


Nature v. Nurture

by hennaravenclaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellatrix Lestrange - Freeform, Crucio, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Dumbledore's Army, Gen, Harry Potter - Freeform, Lucius Malfoy - Freeform, Narcissa Malfoy - Freeform, Owls, Seamus Finnigan - Freeform, Severus Snape - Freeform, bellatrix lestrange has lost it, intensive lessons from the dark lord himself, largely canon compliant ft. cheating behind the scenes, lucius malfoy is unpopular, neville is a herbology tutor, no snape-bashing, voldemort - Freeform, voldemort is awful as he's always been
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennaravenclaw/pseuds/hennaravenclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst monsters were once human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

East London

April 30th, 1986

Marion Gardner exhaled heavily, tucking a limp strand of hair behind her earlobe as she stirred the bubbling pot of stew. In the living room just a few feet away, the familiar jingle of an advertisement for dishwashing liquid rang out.

“Gemma!” Marion yelled as she tossed the wooden stirrer down on the kitchen counter and stalked into the living room of the tiny first-floor apartment. “What did Mama say about watching the TV? You have to ask Mama first! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times! Besides, you’ve already been watching for a whole hour today and that’s more than enough, young lady, do you hear me?”

“But Mama!” the girl whined, pouting. “I want to watch! Why don’t you let me? You’re so mean. I hate you!”

Marion felt her legs go weak for a second as her daughter’s words slammed into her, sucking the air out of her lungs. I hate you. Who would’ve known her six-year-old could be capable of such horrible words? She must have seen it on the TV shows—where else could they have come from? The TV shows! Rage surged into Marion, filling the empty space Gemma’s words had left. Crossing the room in two strides, she ripped the TV plug out of its socket and flung it to the floor. It crashed down on the cheap wood. Gemma burst into tears. For a few seconds, Marion stood perfectly still, staring fixedly at her bawling daughter. Then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, ignoring the nasty smell of burning food and her daughter’s crescendo of cries.

If she had so much as turned her head for a second, she would have seen the two men in long black cloaks loitering at the window just outside her apartment. One was blond, stocky and solid. The other, a tall and distinguished-looking gentleman, had brown hair shot through with streaks of silver.

“Well,” Nott Sr. said to his young companion Thorfinn Rowle. “If it isn’t the Mudblood brat and her filthy Muggle mother. Tonight at midnight Rowle, at this very spot. I’ll bring the girl.”

The two Disapparated with a sharp crack. Back in the living room, Gemma was still lying on the floor, pounding the ground with her fists and sobbing as though her heart had been broken.

 

The neighbourhood was silent. Its windows were dark, most of its occupants having retired to bed quite some time ago. Crack! The noise cleaved the night in half as Nott and Rowle reappeared next to the Gardners’ window. Trailing loosely behind Nott was a little girl of five or six, who removed her hand from his the moment they arrived. She was not the kind of child whom adults cooed and fussed over. No, she was altogether an unremarkable little girl—pale skin, brown eyes, brown hair. Yet if one were to look closely, an odd chill to these otherwise ordinary features became apparent. The edges of her mouth were forever upturned in a smirk, or perhaps a sneer of distaste. Her eyes would have been far more suitable on that of someone ten times her age. Flat and expressionless, they gazed dully upon the world.

“All right now, Belladonna,” Nott warned as they stepped towards the front door. “Remember what I told you. Be very quiet, now.” The door unlocked itself in response to Rowle’s Alohomora. They entered, padding along silently through the dark, cramped hallway. Nott was in front, his sharp eyes darting about. Belladonna walked in the midle. Rowle brought up the rear. A few seconds later, a small yellow light flickered on at the tip of Nott’s wand. Belladonna ground to a halt. She pointed at the door Nott had just walked past. “That one.”

“You sure?” Rowle muttered. “Looks like a toilet to me. Door’s mighty small.” Belladonnna pointed to the sign tacked onto the wall. It read: GEMMA’S ROOM. DO NOT ENTER! The lopsided skull-and-crossbones was barely visible in the glow of the Lumos. Nott opened the door. For a moment, all three stood at the threshold as though transfixed by the sight of the Muggle-born witch. She lay peacefully on the tiny bed, red hair spread all over the yellowish pillow. One arm clutched a battered teddy bear close. Then the spell broke, and Rowle raised his wand. A blinding flash of green light filled the room. Belladonna flung one arm up to shield her eyes—but not before she saw Gemma fly up into the air, limbs jerking in a twisted dance. After the light had faded and Belladonna could see again, she found Gemma lying in a limp heap on the edge of the bed, her face obscured by a curtain of hair.

Rowle strode over and lifted the girl into his arms, taking care to not let her skin touch his bare hands. He Disapparated with a crack. Nott immediately set about the rather trying task of putting the necessary glamour charms on Belladonna. 

“Where’s the little girl going to go?” Belladonna asked suddenly. Her unnaturally flat tone once again made Nott shiver a little.

“Go?” he snorted, carefully disguising his disquiet. “Why, she’s dead of course; Rowle’ll take care of the corpse. We don’t need it lying about.”

Dead?” Belladonna frowned. “Rowle won’t be very nice to her, will he? He’s always so cross, always in a hurry.”

“Why should you care?” Nott demanded, prodding Belladonna’s hair with unnecessary force. It remained brown. Perhaps slightly more reddish than its original hue, but still resolutely brown. “That thing Rowle removed is nothing but a filthy Mudblood. You, on the other hand…you are a pureblood. Like me. Like Theodore. And you are daughter of the most powerful dark wizard our age has known… you should never concern yourself with filth and scum like that Mudbloood. Do you hear me?”

Belladonna jumped a little at the tone of his voice. Sharp, but somehow restrained. The calm before a storm—one that she knew all too well. Every single time she heard it, Teddy would end up locked in the basement for hours, his screams echoing through the Nott mansion.

Nott shoved an ornate silver mirror with the crest of his House engraved upon it into her hands. “What do you think?” Belladonna stared at it. A girl with hazel eyes, red hair and a smattering of freckels splashed across her nose and cheeks stared back at her.

“Dreadful,” she replied, squeezing the words out past the lump in her throat. “I bet all these Mudbloods look like that. Filthy Muggle blood, turning them all ugly.”

Nott laughed, a dry rattling sound. Getting to his feet heavily, he turned to leave. “You be good now,” he warned. “Don’t let that Muggle woman get wind of anything.”

Belladonna nodded slowly, eyes wide and solemn. “How long do I have to stay here for?” she asked.

Nott gulped. He’d been deliberately avoiding this part of the plan. “Well, ” he hedged, “as long as your Father says you have to, I suppose?” Belladonna did not take kindly to that. “How long?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes as her voice rose several octaves.

“You can’t expect me to know, can you?” Nott snapped. “I’m going to go now, but I’ll come back if I need to. Good-bye, Belladonna.” He vanished.

Sitting on an unfamiliar bed in a cheap little apartment, miles from the grandeur of the Nott family mansion where she had grown up, Belladonna shivered a little. She pulled the thin blanket around her bony knees and curled up against the headboard. If anyone had been there to see her, they would have found her just like any other terrifiedchild.


	2. Hello, Father

Chapter 1—Hello, Father Dearest

I landed with a thump on the soft earth, disoriented and slightly nauseous. Ugh. Portkey was definitely NOT my favourite way to travel. Where was I, though? Looking around me, I noticed that I was surrounded by lush greenery. A crystalline brook bubbled and gurgled next to me. Finally, I espied a medium-sized cottage in the woods not far away from me. It seemed perfectly harmless, but there was a distinct aura of Dark magic to it that seemed totally at odds with its exquisite surroundings. But I just knew it—this was where I had to go.

I rose slowly, holding on to a nearby tree trunk for support. Steadying myself, I hurried towards the cottage at a run. Father would skin me alive if I was late. Once I reached my destination, I took hold on the silver serpent-shaped knocker and knocked firmly thrice. There was a pitter-patter of feet, and then a nervous high-pitched male voice called, "Who are you? Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Belladonna Riddle. Open the door this instant, or I shall run you through with my dear sweet mother's silver dagger," I smirked as I spoke, fingering my beloved silver dagger lovingly. There was a noise of heavy padlocks being unlocked, and then the door swung open with a creak of unoiled hinges that made my raven hair stand on end. Standing in the doorway was a short, plump, balding man wearing an ingratiating smile and bowing as low as his rheumatic knees would allow him. His silver hand gleamed in the faint light of the overhead glass chandelier.

"Take these," I snapped, throwing my thick cloak and travelling bag at him. Wormtail let out an 'oof' of surprise, but I paid no mind to him as I walked up the dusty stairs to the room where I knew my father awaited

"This is it, Bell. Do not make a mess of this or you will rue the day you were born," I said to myself as I stood outside Father's study. Yes, I talk to myself. I've found that it improves self-control. Taking a deep breath of musty air, I knocked.

"Come in," a high, cold voice called. Pushing the door open I found myself in an elaborately decorated study. Silver and green hangings filled the room. Mahogany shelves were filled with piles of parchments and thick tomes perched precariously on top of one another. A bald, pale man in midnight-black robes was seated at a table, poring over a report. "Boots off and at the door please. You know how particular I am about cleanliness. There are slippers for you to wear. Put them on, then come and stand five paces behind my chair," the man said without so much as glancing up at me. I hastily complied.

The moment I had assumed my position, the man whirled around, his red serpent-like eyes flashing as he raised his wand and shot a jet of red light at me. Fortunately, my wand was at the ready. I threw myself to the ground, narrowly avoiding his Cruciatus Curse and flinging one of my one back at him. He smirked, deflecting it easily with a swift flick of his wand and shot a volley of hexes at me, which I blocked with a solid Shield Charm. The spells ricocheted off in all directions, shattering glass and destroying furniture.

"Good job, Bella dear," said my father, Lord Voldemort, as his high, cold laugh pierced the air.


	3. The First Meeting

Chapter 2—The First Meeting

"Well, well, my child. You've grown so much. Thank goodness you have my hair, not your mother's," my father bared his teeth in a rather intimidating grin. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong. Father never joked. Never. Well… unless he needed to ask a huge favour…

Here it comes, I thought as my Father cleared his throat and fidgeted slightly in his chair. "Bella, since you are fifteen now, I find it appropriate that you join one of my little…gatherings."

I nearly fainted on the spot. He wanted me to join a Death Eater meeting?! Fighting to keep my face devoid of expression, I sealed my mind using all the Occlumency techniques I had ever learnt while praying that he would not choose this moment to use his stellar Legilimency skills, for showing fear in front of my father was akin to walking around with a giant neon sign that read: I am a sucker, kill me now! on my forehead. He stared hard at my forehead for what seemed like aeons, furrowing his brow in pure concentration. At long last, he let out a high, cold laugh which made the hairs on the back of my slender neck stand up. "Calm yourself, Bella. He's your father, how can you be unnerved by him? Pathetic! " I snarled at myself.

"Well, well, my dear. I see you've been practicing you Occlumency diligently," chuckled my father. "That will be of good use against Snape. Do NOT look at him during the meeting. He swears up and down that he's loyal to me, but you never know with him. Keep your mouth shut; I can't afford anyone finding out about your other identity. Don't tell them about Gemma Gardner, is that clear?"

I nodded. "Yes, father."

"Now, go. Nagini will be with you. And you have my full permission to curse anyone who looks at you the wrong way, if you know what I mean." He winked deviously.

I turned and exited the room, Nagini slithering at my heels. As much as I hated to admit it, I was filled with apprehension. I mean, really, who would want to be stuck in a room full of homicidal maniacs and sadists? All of a sudden, a husky voice interrupted my train of thoughts. "Hello, pretty girl. Looking fine tonight, ain't ya? Why don't you and I—" Before he could continue, I whipped out my wand and pointed it at the face of the stocky man who was standing before me, face obscured by a Death Eater mask. "Crucio!" he let out an unearthly roar and toppled backwards onto the parquet floor, writhing in pain. I smirked triumphantly. Evidently, my Cruciatus curse was stronger than anything he had previously experienced.

Without lifting the curse, I unsheathed my dagger and knelt beside him, pressing it against his neck. I could feel his pulse flittering madly beneath my fingers, just like a frightened rabbit. His eyes—well, what at least what I could see through his mask—were rolling about wildly. "Tsk, tsk, look at you. A grown man, cowering at the feet of a fifteen-year-old girl. How utterly pathetic. I can't see why Father would want scum like you as one of his Death Eaters." I released him form the vice-like grip of the Cruciatus and he lay on the floor, panting. His mask had slipped off, and I found myself staring at the face of Thorfinn Rowle. At last, realisation dawned on him.

"Your… your father… Death Eaters… ohh, Merlin's pants!" he gibbered incoherently, pupils dilating in terror at he stared transfixed at me. I rose, keeping my wand trained on his face. "Yes, you blithering fool! I. Am. Voldemort. And. Bellatrix. Lestrange's. Daughter! Any funny business and you will rue the day you were born. I am your Princess and from now on, any disruption shown to me is equivalent to disloyalty to my father. Of course, you know what the penalty for that is. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" I snarled in my most menacing voice. Needless to say, Rookwood swiftly stuttered out an apology and fled into the meeting room, all traces of his earlier lecherousness completely gone.

Satisfied that I had achieved dominance, I entered the meeting room, in which five or six men stood. Immediately whispers flitted through the chamber and I could feel the heat of the men's appraising eyes on me. Undeterred, I strode forward with an impassive expression, taking my place beside Father's ivory throne. Much to my relief, there were not Muggles in the room awaiting torture, as was the custom during meetings. Yes, I believed Muggles were filth and I did fancy hitting an innocent person with the Cruciatus every now and then, but that did not mean that I enjoyed seeing blood and guts all over the floor. Beside, whenever there were Muggle females, certain… indelicate things tended to happen, and that was not something I ever wanted to see.

"This," my father called out, "is my daughter, Belladonna Emerald Riddle, Princess of Death Eaters." Gasps echoed from all around the room, but they were quickly stifled. I stared unwaveringly at all of them, determined not to show a shred of weakness. Not here. Not in front of these people.

"I have brought her here today not for her initiation, but for her first meeting, which will be a short one as we are short of time tonight. Her initiation will be discussed at a later date. We are here to discuss the prophecy regarding the Potter boy and myself. I cannot take the prophecy myself, for it is protected by ancient magic. Tonight, you are here to devise a plan for the successful retrieval of the prophecy. Bella shall lead the discussion," proclaimed my father. I stepped forward, wand clutched tightly at my side. "Well," said I, "Avery, I understand that you work in the Ministry of Magic. Lucius, I know you have connections where it matters. So, any ideas?"

There was a long pause. "Your Highness, I have a plan," ventured Avery. "Of all the Senior Unspeakables, Broderick Bode is the most weak-willed. I propose that we put an Imperius Curse on him and force him to take the prophecy for us." I wrinkled my nose a little at this suggestion. "Are you sure? Will he be able to touch the prophecy if it has nothing to do with him? If a wizard as powerful as Father was unable to do it, well, what makes you think that Bode would be able to? " I queried.

Though his mask concealed his face, I was certain that at that moment, Avery's face was as white as a sheet. "Well, he is an Unspeakable, Your Highness. Surely they must have been taught something during their training that would be of use in this situation…" I was pretty sure that only I had noticed the almost-but-not-quite-well-supressed tremor in his voice. Seeing as my mind was completely devoid of useful ideas at the moment, and that I was a complete novice when it came to prophecies (I did not study Divination),I had no choice but to agree.

"Alright, then. It does seem as though we have gotten the main ideas down. Avery, practice your Imperius, make sure you get Bode with a powerful one. Malfoy, use your connections to get everyone out of the way including those pesky wizards who have been hanging around the Department of Mysteries lately. Do not rush into things. We do not want anyone at the Ministry to get wind of our intentions.

"Fear not, Your Highness. No one at the Ministry would ever dream that our Lord is back and ready to rule again." An oily voice rang out from next to Father. Shoulder-length blond hair, slight build, elaborately decorated cane. Definitely a Malfoy. "Fudge is as deluded as ever, and the Wizengamot is rather inclined to believe that Dumbledore is a senile, barmy old fool who has nothing better do to than to spout utter codswallop."

"Still, it is better to err on the side of caution," I shot back, with an edge in my voice. Fortunately, (for him, that is,) Malfoy was wise enough to back down. "Of course, Your Highness. You know best. I apologise for my hastiness," he murmured, bowing so low that his face was nearly parallel to the ground.

I continued, "Seeing as everything is nicely settled, I shan't stay any longer. I have urgent businesss to attend to." It was partially true, anyway. If I didn't make it back in time and my absence was noted… well it really didn't bear thinking about. With that, I turned and walked towards the exit. Of course, the fearful looks that the six Death Eaters shot me did not escape my notice. I smirked as I swept out of the room in a cloud of midnight-black robes. I was beginning to see what Father had meant about how people could get drunk on power…

I stepped into the parlour and picked up the Portkey—a coat hanger which my father had so kindly placed outside for me. Instantaneously, I felt a highly unpleasant jerking sensation behind my navel and my feet were lifted off the ground.


	4. Sweet Memories

A/N: Thank you so much for all your views! I really appreciate it. Sorry for the long wait. I came down with a nasty case of writer's block. . If you don't mind, please take a minute to R&R. I'd really like to know what my shortcomings are and what you would like to see in this story. (in the way of pairings etc.) Thanks!

Credits go to Susan Coolidge for the quote highlighted in pink and Cressida Cowell for the quote highlighted in blue.

Chapter 3—Sweet Memories

Thump! I dropped onto my downy bed with a gasp, which I swiftly stifled. Fortunately, all the other girls just stirred slightly or sighed in their sleep. Even bushy-haired Granger, who was an abnormally light sleeper, merely rolled over. I lay there for an hour or possibly more, envisioning fluffy sheep frolicking animatedly in a field, yet sleep stubbornly refused to come to me. Bored to tears, I began to daydream—oh, all right then, nightdream about my past…

My earliest memory is of exploring the Nott Family Library and getting hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of dusty tomes. After two hours of futilely trying to find my way out, I sat down on the icy floor and bawled my eyes out. Luckily, my wails alerted the Nott family house-elf to my predicament and she led me out of there. I was three then, and that was the last time I ever cried.

I committed my first murder when I was six. Yes, six. It was with Father's help of course. I could never have pulled off such a heinous deed on my own at that tender age. Mr. Nott had somehow managed to get into contact with my father (in Goblet of Fire, it is mentioned that Nott Senior did not search for Voldemort after his disappearance. However, in this story, Voldemort lied about that because he did not want anyone to find out about Bella.) , at that time a mere spirit, less than the meanest ghost, ensconced in the lush forests of Albania. That night, Mr. Nott took me to my father, who possessed me for a few hours, channeling all his power into six-year-old me. It wasn't that bad actually, it was just a big blank. I have no recollection of what happened; it was Mr. Nott who filled me in afterwards. Apparently, I had Avada Kedavraed Gemma Jadette Gardner in her sleep. No pain, no shrieks of agony or terror, just one flash of blinding emerald light and the dull thump of her dead body hitting the floor and it was over as quickly as it had started. Aided by my father, I transfigured myself and glamour charms till my body was identical to Gemma's. I then Vanished her dead body, crawled into bed, and thoroughly exhausted, fell asleep.

My father and I have always had telepathy. In all those years with the Gardners, (Mrs. Gardner was a half-blood witch, her husband was a Muggle, ew, although that's not quite the point) he was the one who taught me how to conduct myself such that the Gardners would never realise that their precious daughter was not what she seemed. He the one who drilled in into my head that discretion is the better part of valour that valour itself was something to be used sparingly and with great caution. He instructed me on how to lie without batting an eyelash, how to read expressions, how to blend into the shadows and silently observe all around me. In short, he groomed me to be the perfect Slytherin, one of whom Salazar Slytherin himself would be proud of.

But I was never sorted into Slytherin. I was in Godric Gryffindor's house instead. Godric Gryffindor, courageous, chivalrous, a champion of Muggle-borns. Me, sly devious, always hiding in the shadows, watching everyone and everything. Me, with an absolute loathing for Muggles and Mudbloods inculcated in me by daddy dearest. Now, you might ask, why did I believe all that tripe about Mudbloods being Muggles that had stolen their magic from wizards, causing said wizards to become Squibs? Or about Muggles having mud flowing through their veins? Well, the answer is, when you're four and your father tells you that all Muggles are scum, you believe it because you don't know any better. However, when I grow older and found out that I had been fed a copious amount of propaganda, I guess I just changed my reason for abhorring Muggles: Magic is Might, Might is Right.

And how did I get sorted into Gryffindor House, with me being the polar opposite of everything its founder had stood for? That year, my father was at Hogwarts in the bod of weak-willed, malleable Professor Quirrell. Professor Quirrell was an ambitious yet inordinately foolish young man who was travelling and seeing the world when he had the misfortune of running into my father. Father, being an expert at reading people, saw his fatal flaw—weakness of character combined with an all-consuming thirst for power and seized the opportunity. He poured lies into Quirrell's trusting ears: "There is no evil or good. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. Join me, and you will rule by my side when I rise again." As if. I would be the one who ruled by Father's side. Quirrell was only a pawn (and a very dispensable one at that) in Father's game of chess.

And so, Quirrell came to Hogwarts with Father's soul within him. With Father's help, he cast a non-verbal Confundus charm on the Hat just as it touched my head, causing the Hat to get horribly muddled and place me into Gryffindor, the house that Father had predicted that Harry Potter would be in. It was only years later that I found out how close we had come to placing me in the wrong house: Ronald Weasley had mentioned in passing that Harry, Father's nemesis was almost a Slytherin! Potter, son of a Mudblood with his inane hero complex, in the noble House of Slytherin! He would be sullying our name! But then… he could speak Parseltongue and he had an admirable amount of resourcefulness, mental fortitude and determination, qualities that Salazar prized above all in his handpicked students…

All right then, enough on that wretched Potter. You must, of course, have been wondering how I bore having to pose as a half-blood and live with a Muggle at home and Mudbloods in Gryffindor tower? I'd chalk it all up to self-control. I always kept up a sweet, friendly cordial front, but under that perfect façade, there was always a raging undercurrent of pure hatred and contempt. Even as a child, I had a charmed ledger in which I rewrote my life. It was charmed and locked so that no one save myself could ever peruse it. I remember my first entry: My name is Gemma. I love cats. I'm terrified of dogs. I hate macaroni. Over the years, I perfected my art and became a model actress. My diary entries eventually became progressively less trivial as I painstakingly carved out a personality and diligently followed my "life story" in every waking moment.

Yes, it was difficult being Father's spy within Hogwarts. I had to assimilate myself with the looks-obsessed, bimbotic girls, namely Lavender and Parvati, keep my intelligence under wraps and act book-smart but not particularly street-smart. All this was incredibly difficult for an individualistic, intellectual girl such as myself. But I pushed through—all for Father's sake of course. He forbade me from letting anyone know that I was his daughter. "Things like this spread like wildfire. I don't want anyone to know of your existence—not that I'm not proud of you, of course," he would add as he ruffled my raven tresses in his one gesture of affection. "It's merely that there are scores of people whose hatred for me runs down to their very marrows and they would not hesitate to use you to retaliate against me. You see, Bella? They call themselves good, yet they too can go crazy with blood lust and vengeance, good and evil are merely figments of imagination, a sham devised by simpletons who see the world in black and white. They are wrong, Bella. Nothing is fixed. The world is painted in shades of grey and it is up to you to manipulate the pieces of society, draw in the weak and the like-minded and annihilate those who oppose you. If you succeed, the world will bend to your will and your will rule." These are the things that he whispered to me through our telepathical connection in the dead of the night, while I listened with saucer-wide eyes and bated breath. These are the lessons that will stay with me for life that have embedded themselves in my psyche and made me who I am. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to be a normal girl—just like Gemma would have been if I hadn't murdered her in cold blood.

As much I hate to admit it, I secretly revel in being Gemma. Being a normal girl whose only worries are boys, looks and school is oh-so-appealing at times. It would certainly be a luxury to not have to spend all one's time stealthily spying on Harry Potter, desperately trying to ascertain how he brought down the most powerful wizard of all time without lifting a finger. But no matter. These are thoughts that only sneak up on me in moments of weakness and such moments are few and far between. I was not involved in the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the escape of Wormtail, or the near-murder of Harry Potter in the Triwizard Tournament. Father kept me in the dark about all his grand schemes—something which made me feel highly indignant initially. Later, he told me to bide my time and wait patiently for the day when I was old enough to command respect from even his most senior Death Eaters. A day, which I feel, is well on its way.

So I suppose it all boils down to the mantra which I repeat in my head every day, an endless loop with no start or end: "I am pure evil, capable of anything and my goal is total world domination." No matter how skilled I am at deflecting assaults on my mind, there is one person I cannot block: myself. Try as I might, I cannot force back the shadow of doubt that creeps up on me sometimes, the little voice of dissent that harshly questions whether I really want to be remembered as ruthless and heartless when I am dead and gone, lying still in my grave. Somehow, the volume of that voice rapidly escalates whenever I catch sight of Seamus Finnigan's blue eyes.


	5. Umbridge

Chapter 4: The First Day

I sat listlessly in the Great Hall, poking at my porridge, which was looking incredibly unappetising. By now, I was sorely regretting that unusual burst of sentimentality that had occurred last night. If I had not spent all night reminiscing about my past and mourning the death of the real Gemma, I would not be half as tired as I was now. As Father often said, there was no point crying over spilled potion, and what was done could not be undone. Not that I regretted it, of course. All around me, there was a perfect Babel of noise and chatter generated by students thrilled to be back at Hogwarts after a long summer, but I was too fatigued to open my mouth. "Gemma? You all right? You look a little peaky," Lavender commented. "I'm fine. Just had a little trouble sleeping last night—you know, worrying about O.W.L.s." I lied smoothly. Thankfully, she nodded, turned back to Parvati and continued nattering on about the latest hairstyles. I could not resist smirking just a little, letting my red hair swing forward so no one would see my expression. Being exhausted clearly did not damage my ability to lie.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Unable to resist the soporific effect of Professor Binns' voice during History of Magic, I fell asleep and woke to find a puddle of drool on my textbook. How absolutely mortifying.

At long last, the final lesson of the day—Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around. By that time, I was practically dead on my feet. To my surprise, we were told to put away our wands, take out our quills and copy down the course aims: 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use. I wrinkled my brow in puzzlement as I stared fixedly at the blackboard. There was nothing, absolutely nothing about actually using magic in the course aims. What in the name of Merlin was the Ministry thinking? I could sense Umbridge looking at me, so I quickly ducked my head and hastily began to read the assigned chapter. Before I could even take in the contents of the first page, however, Hermione Granger's voice rang out from directly behind me. "Excuse me, Professor. I have a query about your course aims. There's nothing in there about actually using defensive magic," she stated bluntly.

"What, using defensive magic?" the toad-like professor gave a short, derisive laugh. "Surely you don't think that a situation would arise in my classroom in which you were attacked and had to defend yourself. Oh, no, my dear children, no need to be afraid, you are perfectly safe here, " she continued in a patronising tone that made it absolutely clear that she found us incredibly foolish. I could not help bristling a little at her tone. How dare she treat us like a bunch of five-year-olds?

Naturally, her words unleashed a barrage of questions as outraged students demanded to know how on earth we were supposed to perform the spells during our OWLs if we did not have a single chance to practice in class. To her credit, Professor Umbridge was cool as a cucumber, dealing with the queries shot at her by the class. (The following scene in italics is taken from Order of the Phoenix, with a little bit of paraphrasing) "I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again. Professor Umbridge looked up.

"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly.

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh yeah?" said Harry. He had always had a quick temper, and I could tell that he was about to flare up.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Hmm, let's think," said Harry in a mock-thoughtful voice, "maybe Lord Voldemort?"

Ronald gasped; Lavender uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. I hastily forced a petrified expression onto my face lest anyone find my lack of terror suspicious. Professor Umbridge, on the other hand, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Professor Umbridge stood and leaned towards us, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on the desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!" Glee surged through me. If anything could make more people believe that Harry was insane, it was this display of anger. He really did look quite mad, with his hands shaking and his eyes bulging in rage.

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-po ints-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself,"said Professor Umbridge in one breath, studiously avoiding his gaze. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large one again. This is a lie.

"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Pave five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

And with that, she sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, got to his feet. Everyone was staring at him.

"Harry, no!" Always the prudent one, Hermione Granger tugged at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

There was a collective intake of breath from the class. None of us, perhaps except for Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night my father had risen again. Everyone stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.

"It was murder," said Harry, trembling violently as all thirty of us listened eagerly. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."

Instead of throwing a hissy fit as I had expected, the Professor said in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter dear."

Harry kicked his chair aside, strode around Ronald and Hermione and up to the desk. The rest of the class looked on, holding its breath. She pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag (ew, what an absolutely revolting colour), stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over to hide the words. Silence reigned in the room. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand, causing it to seal itself seamlessly.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.

Harry took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room. "Well, what are you waiting for?" inquired Professor Umbridge brightly, still smiling that horrible toad-like smile. "Kindly carry on with your reading." Although her tone and expression appeared sweet, there was a coldness beneath it that made me shiver. She looked kind, yes, but I could tell that she was evil personified and her menacing aura rattled me more than I cared to admit. My classmates had probably sensed this too—they all returned to their books obediently and studied assiduously (or at least pretended to be doing so). No one, not even Hermione Granger, who was famous for hardheadedness, dared to argue with her. Looking extremely satisfied, the squat Professor sat back down.

At nine o'clock that night, I retired to my dormitory, which was empty save for me. All the other girls were still struggling to get through their mountain of homework. I had finished with the bulk of it since I had skipped my midday meal and gone to the library instead. Priorities. You'll never get anywhere without them. (A/N: I am NOT encouraging anorexia or being a workaholic. These are Bella's warped views, not mine. :P) It was a beautiful night, clear and starry, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. For some reason, my telepathic connection was not working! After ten minutes of trying and failing to reach Father, my palms were clammy with sweat and I was swearing like a sailor under my breath. Father was expecting a report by nine o'five sharp tonight! Sweet Salazar, I was in hot potion now. His telepathic connection with me had rarely failed in past years. It was rather powerful, having been established through ancient magic after I murdered Gemma. Not love. Dark magic. A blood bond, forged through the shared thrill of killing the girl created in those exhilarated moments just after the kill.

"Relax, Bella," I muttered. "Stay calm." I lay down on my bed and tried to envision my father sitting in the picturesque cottage, called out to him in my mind. "Father, where are you? Father?" Out of the blue, a high, clear voice devoid of human kindness rang out in my head. "Belladonna Emerald Riddle. You. Are. Late." Even a fool would be able to sense how irate he was. To him, time was Galleons.

Thinking on my feet, I went for Lucius Malfoy-style groveling since I was too drained to employ Occlumency to cover up my lies. "I'm so sorry, Father. I couldn't muster the mental focus to establish to connection. But I have good news for you! The Ministry still refuses to believe that you are back, and they maintain that 'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident'. Best of all, our new Defense teacher is a foul toad who will not teach any practical Defense. So none of the students will be properly trained in combat! " There was a long, nasty pause that seemed to stretch on forever. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't let him get angry.

After what felt like a million years, he spoke. "Good, good. Lucius Malfoy mentioned some time ago that Fudge feared Dumbledore was organising an army consisting of Hogwarts students to overthrow the Ministry. Naturally, I was reluctant to believe him at that time, given his propensity to exaggerate. Since your account corroborates his, I suppose it is true. However, I am very displeased with you behavior. One more time and there will be consequences. " I was far too relieved about getting off scot-free to worry about said consequences. There wouldn't be a next time, anyway. Voldemort's daughter did not make the same mistake twice. Generally, I'd like to say that Voldemort's daughter does not make mistakes at all (if you can dream it, you can do it! Go Bella!) but that does not always happen. A pity, as Father enjoys frequently reminding me.

"Right, then," he continued, shattering my reverie. "I have things to do." And just like that, the connection was cut off. Still marveling at my good fortune of not being punished for my tardiness, I rolled over and began siphoning the sweat out of my clothes. They had become absolutely drenched over the last five minutes. I then made myself comfortable and soon fell asleep, dreaming of a certain Irish boy…


	6. Midnight Prowlings and Surprises

Chapter 5—Midnight Prowlings and Surprises

"Merlin," I moaned, running a hand through my hair as I stared at the Arithmancy charts spread out on the table in front of me. At the best of times, I was only fairly proficient at Arithmancy, unlike Hermione Granger, who seemed to have a natural affinity for numbers. They just didn't sit that well with me. Now, I was so tired that the numbers seemed to be swimming about on the page and, try as I might, I simply could not make sense of them. It was awfully late, and all the students, even the NEWT ones, were back in the dormitories. Unfortunately, I had gotten so sick of the endless homework and studying that I had decided to take a nice long walk around the grounds this afternoon instead of completing my homework. This being a decision which I now sorely regretted. The Arithmancy homework was due during first period the next morning and I still had a fair bit left to go.

"Stupid, stupid Bella" I chided myself as I added a few more digits to the chart. "Oh, it's no use, I can't think, I'll just have to do it tomorrow morning," I muttered crossly, shoving the papers to the side of the table. Shakily, I rose and began to scale the seemingly never-ending flights of stairs. After what seemed like an eternity, I arrived at the dormitory labelled 'fifth-years'. Reaching for the knob, I was violently startled to hear agitated male voices emanating from within! "Harry! HARRY!" Somebody, presumably the weasel, was bellowing. Sweet Salazar! I had come to the boys' rooms by mistake. There was another high-pitched, shaky voice, clearly Neville Longbottom's. I have never met such a cowardly Gryffindor (except for myself, but I don't count because I really should have been in Slytherin). "He's really ill. I'll go get help."

Merlin! Realisation hit me with the force of a well-thrown curse. He was going to see me! Glancing around me, I saw that there were no dark corners or alcoves for me to hide. Left with no choice, I scrambled down the stairs, wand at the ready. With a bit of luck, I'd be out of the other boys' earshot by the time Longbottom caught up with me. Sure enough, his nasal voice rang out as my feet hit the third flight of stairs. "What are you doing here?" I spun around and pointed my wand at his face. "Obliviate! Confundus!" Instantly, his face went blank. By the time he was himself again, I was ready for him. "Hello there, Neville," I said pleasantly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Look how silly I am—I came up the wrong staircase by mistake. There's something dreadfully wrong with Harry Potter—he's really ill, so you'd better run along and let Professor McGonagall know. Bring her here, she will be able to help," I said, shunting Neville along down the stairs. Fortunately, he was used to being ordered about and padded off without any further ado.

I leaned against the cold wall, mind racing. What next? "Think like your father, Bella," I urged myself. What would he do? I really could not afford to make another mistake after that slip-up with the DA. Father would definitely rush in there, kill Potter and blow up the place for good measure so that the little brat couldn't come back and cause any more trouble. But I couldn't very well burst in and Avada Kedavra Potter, could I? He had strange, amazingly strong powers that even Father could not fathom. Besides, I had never cast a Killing Curse on my own before. Given my fatigued state, I knew I would only be able to weaken him at best. At worst, my curse would have no effect on him at all. Clearly, my brain had been addled by frustration and fatigue, for I was completely unable to think straight.

All of a sudden, it hit me. Of course! Information! Father would find out everything, then kill all persons concerned so that they would be unable to blab. There was absolutely no time to lose. I flew up to my dorm and tiptoed in so as not to wake the others. With shaking hands, I extracted my Invisibility Cloak from the very bottom of my trunk. (A/N: The cloak was given to her by her Father during a Death Eater meeting. It is not a true Invisibility Cloak. It just has a lot of Bedazzlement Hexes, Disillusionment Charms and the like placed on it. Thus, after it has been used three times, its magic will be completely exhausted and it will disintegrate. The reason why she didn't use an Invisibility Charm like she did in the Prologue was because the spell, which was invented my her father, is still in the experimentation stage and not reliable enough for such an important spying mission.) I quickly made my way back to Harry's dormitory.

I was in luck. The door has been left slightly ajar, and I could hear Professor McGonagall's crisp, curt voice: "I believe you, Potter. We're going to see the Headmaster." Shock coursed through me upon hearing her statement. Whatever had happened, it must be awfully severe if they were going to disturb the Headmaster in the middle of the night. I had to get to the bottom of this! Several seconds later, Professor McGonagall came striding out, followed by a sweaty, flustered Potter and an unusually pale Weasley. Although I had the protection of the Cloak, I still covered my mouth to muffle my ragged breathing and pressed myself into the wall so hard that the cold stone bit into my back. To my relief, all three of them stumped past without so much as a glance at me, each too preoccupied with his/her own thoughts. I tiptoed along, following them at a safe distance.

Sadly, they were silent as they walked, so I was unable to glean any information. We moved through endless dimly lit corridors, and finally came to an ugly stone gargoyle. The Professor strode forward and spoke to it, upon which it swung back to reveal a spiral staircase that was moving continuously upwards. Before I had a chance to get closer, they stepped forward and the wall closed in front of me with a dull thud. Biting back a moan of frustration, I sank to the ground, burying my head in my hands. Why on earth had I been so stupid, to stand so far away from them? Now, they were in Dumbledore's office, discussing important matters, Merlin knows what crucial information I was missing! Father would not be happy…

To my surprise, Professor McGonagall appeared after a short while and started off down the corridor in a swish of tartan robes. Hope swelled in my chest. Maybe I still had a chance to find out what all the fuss was about! I got to my feet and sprinted after her, trying to be quiet. Out of the blue, she ground to an abrupt halt just as she was about to turn the corner. I stopped too, narrowly avoiding crashing into her. Craning my neck, I soon understood why she had frozen. Strolling towards us was a squat, toad-like witch with a predatory grin on her ugly visage. Overwhelmed by her evil aura, I shuddered a little, pulling my cloak tight around me and shrinking backwards against the wall.

"Hello there, Minerva," she said in a sweet, simpering tone that starkly contrasted the sinister expression she was wearing. "You're just the person I wanted to see. You see, Potter and Weasley are out of their beds. Being the Head of Gryffindor House, I believed that you would be the most suitable person to inform me about their exact location. So. Where are they? " Her voice rose dangerously at the end of the sentence.

Professor McGonagall drew herself up, staring down at the shorter witch with thinly veiled disdain. "In the Headmaster's office. I am afraid Mrs. Weasley has suddenly taken ill in the middle of the night. Naturally, her sons and daughter are wanted back at home, in case she passes away before she sees them one last time. Potter, being an extremely close family friend, is wanted at the Weasley residence as well."

"What?!" Umbridge blustered, her face turning an ugly, blotchy red. "How dare they just up and leave without informing me? I am the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts!"

"If you read the Minister's decree closely, Dolores, you would have noticed that you are only given the power to make sure unsatisfactory teachers are removed from Hogwarts and all decrees are followed," said Professor McGonagall coldly, looking at Umbridge with outright disgust by now. "Potter and Weasley have been given permission to return home by the Headmaster, given the severity of this emergency. Seeing as there are no decrees on this particular subject, I would say, Dolores, that you are quite powerless in this matter. Good night." And with that, Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving a speechless, fuming Umbridge in her wake.

After a long walk, we arrived at the fourth-year Gryffindor girls dormitory. I swiftly stepped inside before Professor McGonagall could close the door. Unsurprisingly, she headed straight for Ginny Weasley's bed and began shaking the fourth-year awake. "Miss Weasley!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "Wake up! Get up! You need to return home at once!" She gripped Ginny's arm firmly and began to pull her off the bed by degrees.

"What..wossat?" The youngest Weasley muttered blearily as she looked around her.

"We can't talk in here, Miss Weasley. Out, into the corridor, now!" The look on Professor McGonagall's face seemed to have roused the girl, for she quickly scurried out into the corridor, looking scared. I followed.

Once they were outside, Professor McGonagall said without preamble,"I'm sorry, Miss Weasley, but your father has been attacked. He is badly injured and you are to return to Headquarters immediately along with all your brothers and Mr. Potter. However, the official story is that your mother is gravely ill and that you are going back to the Burrow, so remember to keep all pretenses up."

By then, my head was spinning. Who had attacked Mr. Weasley? How did Professor McGonagall know? It was so late at night now! Who could possibly have tipped her off? And if the Burrow was their home, then what could Headquarters refer to? Evidently, Ginny had the same questions too. "But Professor!" she cried, pretty features twisted in consternation. "Who attacked him? How do you know he was badly injured? Where is he now? Where was he attacked?" She fired queries at poor Professor McGonagall non-stop.

At this, the Professor looked even graver. "Miss Weasley," said she, "what I am about to tell you must not be repeated to anyone outside your family, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Your father was attacked by a snake in the Ministry of Magic while doing some… ah, business for the Order. He is at St. Mungos now. It was Mr. Potter who informed us about the attack."

"Harry?" cried Ginny. "But..how?"

"Miss Weasley," said the Professor in a voice hardly above a whisper, "he had a dream, in which he saw the snake biting your father. It is believed that the snake… belongs to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

What?! My mouth fell open in shock. In that moment of stunned surprise, I forgot to keep a firm hold on my too-large cloak. It slipped off slightly, exposing my shoulder. This jolted me back to my senses and I swiftly recovered from my shock, yanking the cloak back up and tiptoeing away from them as fast as I could while not making any noise, but the damage had already been done. Professor McGonagall and Ginny Weasley were both staring at the spot where I had been standing, looking astounded. Professor McGonagall was the first to find her voice. "It appears that we have a midnight wanderer," she said. "Miss Weasley, kindly go wake the twins and go to the Headmaster's office with them. Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you. I will now seal all the girls' dormitories. If you see anything unusual, report it to me immediately."

Upon hearing the words "seal all the girls' dormitories", I let out an involuntary gasp. Fighting back panic, I racked my brains for a way to get out of this. All of a sudden, I remembered the ink pellets that Fred and George had given to me earlier today for not reporting them when I caught them doing some illegal experimentation with the first years. Quickly moving to the top of the stairs, I fished them out of my pocket and threw them at Professor McGonagall as hard as I could. They burst upon impact, exploding in a spectacular burst of black, blue and purple ink that spattered all over the walls. Professor McGonagall coughed and spluttered, trying to get her bearings.

Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, I raced back up to the dormitory and dashed towards my bed, ripping off my cloak and school robes and stuffing them under my bed. i then leapt into bed wearing only my vest and an old pair of shorts, pulling the covers up over my head. I was just in time too—mere seconds later, a bright white light blazed across the doorframe and I knew that it had been magically locked.

After twenty or so minutes had passed, I judged that it was safe to get out of bed and put on my pyjamas. It was wintertime, and the dormitory was awfully cold. I was reclining peacefully, unable to believe my luck in escaping when a thought struck me: Father! He needed to know about what had happened. Immediately.

Sitting up, I envisioned my father sitting in his study, or perhaps resting. "Father! I need to talk to you now!" I called out to him, trying to visualise my voice travelling across space and time to reach him, wherever he was. To my relief, my call was answered almost instantly.

"Bella!" There was a note of surprise in his cool voice. "Why are you not sleeping?"

"Father, I need to know. Have you sent Nagini to the Department of Mysteries tonight?" I went straight to the point.

"Yes, I did. How did you know? That was supposed to be an undercover operation!" I could hear him trying to suppress his shock. To Lord Voldemort, being thrown for a loop by anybody, even, well especially his fifteen-year-old daughter was a show of weakness. Something which he would not tolerate.

"Father… Harry Potter had a dream tonight. He saw Nagini attacking that Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley in that dream. Of course, he told Professor McGonagall, who ran to Dumbledore. The blood traitor children and Potter have returned to a place they called the Headquarters— I suppose the Headquarters of the Order that Professor McGonagall mentioned. Unfortunately, Arthur Weasley is still alive and has been taken to St. Mungo's." I told him in one breath.

Father spoke slowly as if trying to wrap his head around my words. "Truly… odd, this is. I was possessing Nagini tonight, for my possession enhances her powers, just as they do yours. We were going to the Department of Mysteries tonight to do reconaissance. I was not intending to tell you about this Bella, you are still young and I wish to protect you." At this, I felt warmth surge over my body in spite of myself. I knew that the only reason why he put so much effort into keeping me safe was that I was important to him: his spy within Hogwarts, more of an asset than a liability. Had I been a bumbling, incompetent fool like Longbottom, he would have disposed of me unceremoniously years ago. But still. It was nice to think that he cared about me, even though I knew better than anyone else that he was incapable of love.

"Our plans have gone quite awry of late," he continued. "Avery, it seems, misinformed me about the prophecy. He oversimplified the problem and misled us all, making it seem as though all we had to do was stroll in there and take it. He was wrong. I presume you read about Broderick Bode, the Unspeakable we Imperiused, in the Daily Prophet? Bode must have known that he could not touch the prophecy, for he resisted the Imperius. This damaged his mental facilities quite severely. The physical contact with the prophecy was the last straw that broke the hippogriff's back—we have no idea what happened, but we do know that it drove him insane. He is now residing in St. Mungo's, on the Closed Ward for those whose damage is likely irrepairable." Father paused for breath. I could hear the hard edge of rage in his voice, and I shuddered to think of the punishment that he must have inflicted on Avery. It would probably make my punishment for not joining Dumbledore's Army look like a walk in the park. 1

"Bode seems to be showing signs of recovery recently, and, for a while, we feared that he would spill the pufferfish eyes once he regained the ability to speak. Lucius, however, took care of that matter. He has arranged for Bode to be sent a deadly Christmas present—a clipping of Devil's Snare, disguised as an innocent Flutterby bush. Bode will be gone for good in a few weeks."

"I, however, have more pressing worries. As of now, none of my Death Eaters know about this, but in light of tonight's events, I think you should be privy to this knowledge. I have long suspected that the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation that opposed me valiantly in the First Wizarding War, has been reformed. Tonight's events, however, have confirmed this suspicion. A while ago, Lucius discovered Sturgis Podmore, a suspected member of the Order trying to get through the door of the Department of Mysteries. At that time, we had no idea what this was about." My heart was thudding in my chest. I did not like the way this was going at all. Judging by the foreboding tone of Father's voice, it seemed as though the Order of the Phoenix was a threat that we could not ignore, a force to be reckoned with. And if it had been reformed… that meant there were wizards and witches out there who believed that Father had risen again and were being vigilant. This was very bad news indeed.

"However, tonight, as I bit the Weasley man, a piece of paper fell out of his pocket. A roster. Detailing who was supposed to guard the entrance of Department of Mysteries at what time. They have Aurors and other powerful people on their side—people who would be able to best a good number of my Death Eaters in a duel. They know I am after the prophecy, and are guarding it quite securely." I gasped. This was terrible!

"However," continued my father, "the information that you have given me tonight is invaluable. Bode made it clear that he could not touch the prophecy, only the subject of the prophecy and those related to him could. With this new… connection, we may find a way to use Potter for our plans. Well done, Bella. I am proud of you. There is one more thing that you are to do—make sure you are not at those Muggles' home this Christmas. I am planning to have Lucius, our best strategist, know about your findings and see what he makes of them. We may need to have you on hand during the planning stage." And with that, the connection was cut off abruptly. He was gone.

I lay on the bed, a slow smile spreading over my face. For the first time in years, I had made Father proud of me. And I was determined to make that happen more often.

Footnote: Bella (while disguised as Gemma Gardner), was actually asked to join Dumbledore's Army by Hermione. However, she declined as she was afraid of Umbridge and what she might do if she caught the students. Having interacted with Death Eaters and with a father like Voldemort (and also being not a very nice person herself), Bella can sometimes 'sense' an 'evil aura' around certain people. It is not a special ability, nor particularly useful. It is more of a 'sniffing out people who are similar to you' thing. When her father found out that she missed out on a chance to spy on Harry Potter, he was livid and punished her using the Cruciatus Curse. However, she was forgiven after successfully finding out about Harry's 'Voldemort antennae'.

A/N: Thank you for all your views and lovely comments! I am aware that this story, while tagged 'Romance', actually doesn't have any of it yet. Not to worry—the next chapter will contain some fluff/ first date. R&R please!


	7. Hogsmeade

In case you were wondering, Gemma Gardner is the 'unidentified ginger Gryffindor girl' mentioned on Potterwiki. However, I made her friends with Lavender and Parvati instead of Fay Dunbar since I thought that Bella would have chosen the stereotypical 'dumb girls' to blend in with so that people would tend to underestimate her and thus trust her more. I haven't seen the movies yet, so my story will be canon-compliant as far as possible, but only compliant with the books, not necessarily the movies. Also, I didn't want her to take Divination because that would give her too much 'convenient information' about prophecies. I wanted her to really struggle to find a way to get it, or the story would be even more plotless than it already is.

Chapter 6: Hogsmeade

The day after my midnight escapade, I sat in the Gryffindor common room, chewing on a battered quill absentmindedly as I composed a letter to the Muggles.

Dear Mum and Dad, (I wrote)

I am afraid that I am not able to return home this Christmas. My Ordinary Wizarding Levels are coming up, and I need to work on my Herbology so that I can be accepted into Professor Sprout's N.E.W.T. class, as she is highly selective and only accepts students with an 'Outstanding', which I am currently far from achieving. I am dreadfully sorry about this and I promise to spend lots of time with you this summer vacation to make up for my absence.

Your loving daughter,

Gemma

I leaned back and smiled, pleased with my handiwork. It had taken me twenty minutes to compose this brief little note—lying to my 'parents' was harder than I had thought. At last, I had come up with the O.W.L.s excuse. It was partially true anyway—although I had absolutely no desire to be a Healer, my Herbology grades were not up to standard. Father, who had gotten twelve 'Outstanding' NEWTs back in the day, always remembered to remind me that neither he nor my mother had the proclivity to kill all the plants they came into contact with, so neither should I. I loved Father, but it was honestly so difficult sometimes—never good enough, never quite as smart, as ferocious, as ruthless as dear Mother had been.

"Gemma? What're you doing?" Parvati's clear, pretty voice jolted me out of my thoughts. "Oh, nothing much," I replied quickly. "Just writing a letter to my parents."

"Oh! Can I see?" She leaned across me, reaching for the parchment.

"No!" I cried, louder than intended, as I jerked it out of her reach. "I… it's private!" It simply would not do to have anyone find out that I was planning to stay at the castle for the Christmas holidays, especially since I would probably have to disappear halfway to meet Mr. Malfoy and Father.

Parvati let out a tinkling little laugh. "Oh, really? Or is it just a letter to a boy?" She made another wild grab at the paper.

"No, I swear, it's for my parents!" I cried, trying frantically to extricate myself from the situation. These days, boys were a touchy topic for me and there was no telling what I might accidentally reveal after being endlessly prodded and prompted by someone like Parvati. "I, uh, I have to post this right now! It's really urgent!" I leapt to my feet and fled the common room, blushing wildly.

I quickly posted the letter before I could run into any more inquisitive souls and proceeded to skulk around the Owlery, contemplating what to do next. Returning to the common room was out of the question—I would definitely be teased mercilessly by my 'friends'. However, I had absolutely nothing to do, as I had stupidly left all my study materials and homework in said common room. In the end, I simply skulked around the Owlery, cursing my lack of foresight.

"Gemma?" A sudden voice disturbed me as I was making up ah… creative names for silly me. "Why are you here?" I looked up. Seamus Finnigan was standing right in front of me, head tilted in confusion as those ocean-blue eyes stared at me intently. Instantly, my heartbeat skyrocketed and I could feel my palms sweating.

"Oh, um, the other girls were teasing me about something silly and I didn't want to go back to the Common Room to be mocked," I said, trying to sound witty.

"Really? How odd. Why would anyone want to make a pretty girl like you so distressed?" He flashed me his trademark smile and a wink. By now, my heart was beating so fast that I could actually hear it loud and clear. One part of my brain—the logical part, cautioned: He flirts with everyone, Bella! He even called Lavender 'absolutely ravishing' last week! Him calling you pretty means nothing! Nothing at all! Another part, however squealed in girlish delight at his compliment and squawked at me: Go on, Bella! If you want him to notice you, you have to make the first move! This isn't the Victorian Era! You can't just sit there and wait for a nice guy to fall from the sky!

The emotional, illogical teenage-girl part got the better of me, much to my dismay. Before I even realised what I was saying, I blurted out, "Thanks! Um, there's a Hogsmeade visit tomorrow, and, and I'm… not going with anyone at the present so I um, was, ah, wondering if…" I trailed off awkwardly, watching him anxiously for a response.

"Sure!" He beamed at me. "Sounds great! I'll meet you in the Great Hall at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, okay? Bye—I've got something I need to be doing right now." Seamus flashed me that dazzling smile again and bounced off before I had a chance to say anything. I stared at his retreating back, grinning dazedly.

Then it hit me. Oh, Merlin. What had I done? I had just asked Seamus Finnigan, the biggest flirt Hogwarts had seen in a hundred years, on a date, even though I had spoken less than ten sentences to him over the past year. Sweet Salazar! The rest of the House—the school, even, would think me a scarlet woman! I could practically visualise the rest of the common room sniggering among themselves and saying things like, "Did you hear? Gardner asked Finnigan out! Who does she think she is, anyway, she's not even that beautiful! What a (censored), throwing herself at a boy like that!"

I let out an aggrieved moan. What on earth was wrong with me? Controlling my impulses and keeping a cool head had always been my strong suit until two or three months ago. Now, I found myself shooting off my mouth and doing unpredictable, reckless things at all the wrong times.

"Calm down, Bella," I told myself firmly. "It's just an outing to Hogsmeade with a fellow House member. You're overreacting. This is nothing, anyway. Don't your friends date around all the time? Parvati went to the Yule Ball with Harry Potter last year, and nothing ever came out of it anyway." Sufficiently cheered by that little bit of self-talk, I happily headed off towards Gryffindor Tower.

Halfway there, though, I remembered that the common room was the last place I should be now. Unless, of course, I thought death by endless teasing was a fun way to go. "Oh, bugger!"

"Don't worry, Gemma," Parvati said kindly as she carefully maneuvered my bright red hair into a French braid. "You look really good." I nodded and fidgeted nervously with my baby-blue robes, not really paying attention.

"Ooh!" Lavender squealed as she sauntered in from the bathroom, immaculately made up as usual. "My baby is growing up! Gemma, you're finally going on your first date!" She bounced over and flung her arms around my neck, overly affectionate as usual.

"Careful!" shrieked Parvati, flapping her arms and fending Lavender off. "Don't ruin her hair, or I swear I'll kill you! It took me ages to get that braid just right! " Lavender sprang back, a look of mock-alarm on her face. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger, sitting on her bed a few feet away, let out a dramatic sigh. She obviously disapproved of our frivolity. "Really, though, Gemma," continued Lavender. "How did you manage to get a date with such a handsome boy just a day in advance?"

"It's not a date!" I insisted, even though my flaming cheeks gave me away. "We're just going as friends!"

"That's what they all say," Lavender smirked at me. "Anyway," she went on briskly, suddenly getting into 'business mode', "are you ready? Makeup? Check. Robes done up properly and everything? Check. Hair looking wonderful, of course, thanks to Parvati. Stockings? Good, those are really thick, they'll keep you warm. Shoes? Oh no!" She suddenly let out a theatrical shriek.

"The heels of those shoes are way too high and not sturdy enough, Gemma! You won't last two seconds in that snow wearing those! Here, put these on instead!" She yanked my favourite pair of black wedge heels off my feet and thrust a practical pair of turquoise ballet flats at me. I hastily complied. Anything to keep her quiet. Or at least relatively so.

"There!" Parvati pulled me to my feet and spun me around. "Perfect! Seamus will surely fall in love with you the moment he sees you—oh, stop blushing, Gemma, it makes you look really unattractive, clashes awfully with your hair. Gosh! Look at the time! You've got to get going at once!" She and Lavender each seized one of my arms and piloted me out of the dormitory.

"Now, Gemma," Lavender bellowed after me as I began my descent down the stairs. "Chin up, don't look nervous, and whatever you do, don't suddenly blurt out that you're truly, madly, deeply in love with him! It's only the first date; don't scare him off with your intensity!"

I laughed in spite of myself. These girls were dreadfully silly about the most trivial of things, but they always had my back and that was really nice.

In no time at all, I had met up with Seamus at the Great Hall and went with him to be checked by Filch before leaving. Filch, wearing an overlarge red-and-green scarf, carefully checked our names against the list of students allowed to go to Hogsmeade before letting us go. His eyes were suspiciously red and puffy, and he was clutching his foul cat a little tighter than usual. I supposed holidays like Christmas reminded him exactly how lonely he was. I was in no mood to feel sorry for him, though—he was even meaner than usual, snapping and snarling at virtually everyone.

However, when we finally got out, I suddenly found myself longing for the noisiness of the Great Hall. Now that we had left the school, my lack of speech seemed even more conspicuous in the quiet surrounding us. I could practically hear the delicate snowflakes hitting the ground.

"Come on," I urged myself. "You were almost a Ravenclaw; you can't be this stupid, can you? Say something witty, for Merlin's sake!" But I couldn't. It seemed as though my brains had been replaced by sawdust the moment I came into close contact with Seamus. All I could do was to sneak peeks at his face every now and then as we dragged our feet through snowdrifts five inches deep.

At last, he broke the silence. "So," he said, grinning brightly. "Where d'you live?" It was clear to me that he had said that just to dispel the awkwardness that hung heavily between us, thick enough to be cut with my silver dagger. Touched by his efforts, I replied, "Oh, in London. The non-magical part; my parents are Muggles. The Leaky Cauldron's actually a short distance away from my apartment, but I never looked carefully at it. Just goes to show how unobservant people are, huh? Actually, speaking of observing, I used to do that a lot when I was a little kid. Back then, my parents had just started setting up their business, and there was no one I could talk to. I used to look at all the people passing by from my window and make up weird stories about them. It was fun."

I finished my speech and looked up to see Seamus staring at me, open-mouthed. "Blimey, Gemma," he said. "I've never heard you say so much in five years."

I laughed nervously. "Yeah…I'm kind of shy, so I don't say much in social situations. Besides, my friends are so chatty that there's hardly any room for me to get a word in." This was not quite true. I was never the talkative type, but neither was I pathologically shy, although I used to be terrified of strangers as a child. However, after years of being told, "You have two ears and one mouth, Bella. Would you care to explain that phenomenon?" by Father, I eventually evolved into a fringe-of-the-group type who observed instead of speaking.

He nodded sympathetically. "I know how that feels." I knew that he didn't, since he was the most outgoing, exuberant person I had ever met, but I really appreciated how hard he was trying to make me feel at ease.

As we entered the Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeer and perhaps an early lunch, he asked, "Do you listen to Celestina Warbeck? I do, all the time!" My eyes widened in delight. Finally, someone who didn't find my favourite singer old-fashioned!

"Definitely!" I exclaimed, trying (and failing) to sound calm and cool. "I spent all summer walking dogs for Muggles to get enough money for her newest record."

He grinned genially, probably taken aback by my enthusiasm. "Yeah, she's great. Me mam started playing her music to me when I was six. " We had finally found a common topic that we could talk about without any inhibitions. And talk we did.

"I can't sing at all," I confessed over sandwiches and Butterbeer. "My parents wear earplugs when I hum along to my records."

"Really?" He looked interested. "Try singing something; let's see how bad it is."

"A cauldron full of hot strong love… " I yodeled. He promptly choked on his food. "Merlin! You sound like a dying cat!"

"One that's been stuck full of pins and is howling in agony," I corrected him. Seamus burst out laughing, nearly spraying Butterbeer all over the table. All the earlier tension between us seemed to have mystically dissipated. I stared at his sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks and twitching lips, trying to memorise every last detail of this perfect moment.

A few hours later, we were walking back to the castle, arms laden with purchases from Honeydukes and Zonko's. All in all, our time together had gone fairly well. There had been a number of good moments—the first time I made him laugh, when we discovered that we both loved Chocolate Frogs best of all—but we had our share of painfully awkward moments too. The worst one was when I batted my eyelashes at him, trying to look cute like Lavender had taught me. It did get his attention, but in a rather unexpected manner. Instead of winking at me like Parvati had predicted, he stopped walking and very seriously asked me if I had something in my eye. I honestly wanted to curl up and die of embarrassment when that happened.

"Gemma?" Seamus' voice shattered my reverie. I snapped to attention and quickly turned to face him. I think I stared at him a little too hard though—two spots of colour rose in his cheeks and he avoided my gaze.

"I just wanted to say… I think you're really interesting and it would be nice if we could go out again." My heart started racing. He wanted to see me again? He hadn't been annoyed by my awkwardness and lack of romantic talent, or alarmed by my intensity? I tried to give him a coy smile, but it morphed into a huge grin.

"Thanks! Great idea!" I told him. He looked immensely relieved, and gave me one last smile before heading up to his dormitory.

I was halfway up to my dorm, walking on air, with that stupid grin plastered all over my face when it hit me. What would Father say? Father, who never believed in love, would be horrified at the idea of me dating someone when I should be focusing on the prophecy and his various other plans for ridding the world of Potter. Furthermore, Seamus was a half-blood, for Merlin's sake! What had I been thinking?

"It's okay, Bella," I told myself firmly. "What Father doesn't know won't kill him. You just have to brush up on your Occlumency skills." But this time, the professional liar was unable to fool herself.


	8. Chapter 8--Christmas at Malfoy Manor

Chapter 7—Christmas at Malfoy Manor

 

“Last minute change of plans,” I told Parvati, who had come to see me off. “Mum and Dad absolutely insisted that I return home for Christmas—something about upholding the family traditions.” Disentangling myself from her tight embrace, I scurried off towards the Hogwarts Express, clutching my bag tightly. Only when I was inside a safely locked compartment did I relax, dropping onto a soft seat with a sigh. The whole ‘going home for Christmas’ thing was a sham, fabricated so that I could sneak off to stay with the Malfoys without any awkward questions being asked. Truth be told, I was anxious about the task at hand. The less intelligent Death Eaters like Macnair respected me because of Father, but Lucius Malfoy… I honestly couldn’t tell, and that unnerved me. He had been deferential enough at our last meeting, but probably only due to the fact that Father had been presiding over our discussion. I could tell that he thought I was far too young to be my father’s main helper. This was true, but having a high-ranking member openly doubt me was not helping my reputation or my confidence. And now, I had to spend one and a half weeks in close quarters with him and his foul little snob of a son, Draco Malfoy. Merlin knows how I was going to survive it.

 

Before I knew it, the train had arrived at Platform 9 and ¾. Groups of students disembarked from the train, exchanging goodbyes and leaving with their parents. I, however, hid behind a thick, sturdy pillar, waiting for the crowd to disperse. When all of them were gone, I removed all my glamour charms and headed over to the pillar at the far end of the train station. I tapped it gently twice with my wand and held my breath, waiting. Slowly but surely, the reddish-brown bricks slid apart to reveal a slimy boot. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I picked it up gingerly and promptly experienced a jerking sensation behind the navel.

 

 _Thump!_ I landed on a patch of bright green grass. Slightly disoriented and confused, I looked around me. Where on earth was Lucius Malfoy? As though to answer that question, there was a gentle pop beside me and a man with sleek blond hair and a perpetually smug expression appeared beside me. “Ah, there you are, ” he said. “I do apologise for the inconvenience. Narcissa is entertaining guests in the parlour and we thought it safer that you did not Portkey directly into the Manor.”

 

Dusting myself off, I rose and replied sharply, “What business could be more important than that of the Dark Lord? ” He turned a rather nasty shade of green and I secretly rejoiced at having scared him. After all, as Machiavelli said, safer to be feared than loved. In any case, I had no desire for Malfoy’s affection.

 

“I… we didn't want them to come visit today, but they insisted on doing so. I am very sorry for this. It won’t happen again.” He was practically falling over himself to apologise. I nodded and said brusquely, “All right, then. If something like this happens again, make no mistake, my father will hear about it. Let’s go now, there’s no time to lose.” He nodded and reached out, gripping my arm firmly. To my surprise, I experienced a sensation of being squeezed through an immensely tight vacuum.

 

Seconds later, I found myself sitting on a large, soft bed in a handsomely furnished bedroom, which was at least five times bigger than the one I had at home with the Muggles. The walls were covered with painting of various eminent purebloods, and all the furniture was made of highly polished teak. Silver and green hangings filled the room. “Welcome to our humble abode,” Malfoy said, bowing ever so slightly. Praises and awed exclamations nearly fell out of my mouth, but I stopped them just in time. No need to make myself look like a country bumpkin. “It is… adequate, I suppose. Kindly leave me alone for a while, I would like to rest. It has been a long journey. ” Malfoy looked astonished, but quickly did as he was told.

 

Once he was gone, I flopped onto the fluffy pillows and let out a heartfelt groan. It was going to be a very, very long, Christmas holiday.

 

*********************************************************************

 

I sat in a rigid and uncomfortable wooden chair at the Malfoys’ dinner table, fidgeting nervously and trying very hard to be discreet about it. Although I was a pureblood with Black and Gaunt blood, I had, due to unfortunate circumstances, been brought up by Muggles—and not very affluent ones at that. As a result, I had no knowledge about proper dining etiquette, and I was paying dearly for it. All three Malfoys were calmly cutting up their food and eating it, looking extremely elegant—the very picture of pureblood wealth. I, on the other hand, was struggling to use the cutlery. _Why_ did the blasted things have to be so slippery and heavy? And _what_ on earth were all those little forks and spoons used for? After I dropped my fork thrice and used the dessertspoon for the salad, I decided that enough was enough.

 

“Excuse me, but I’m feeling rather peaky,” I informed my hosts. “I think I need a little lie-down.” With that, I set down my knife and fork and fled the room as fast as I could without actually running. As I left, I overheard the youngest Malfoy saying, “Goodness, Mother! Did you see that? She had no idea how to eat like a lady! How could the Dark Lord’s daughter act like she was raised by Weasleys?”

 

“Shh!” Narcissa hissed in consternation. “She might be listening!” I was listening, but I was too humiliated to go back in there and argue with any of them. All I wanted was to escape to my room hide in there until the holidays were over.

 

********************************************************************

 

The next morning, I was rudely awakened by something jumping up and down on my bed and poking at me with long, bony fingers. “Miss Riddle needs to get up now!” it cried. “Master Lucius is sayings Miss Riddle is havings many things to be doings today!” When I rolled over and ignored the intruder, it gave me a particularly painful jab in the ribs.

 

“All right, all right, I’m up!” I crawled out of bed, still slightly groggy. Standing before me was the ugliest creature I had ever seen. It had large bat-like ears from which enormous quantities of dirty hair sprouted. “Kreacher is sorry to be disturbings Miss Riddle, but Miss Riddle’s father is here, and he is wishings to see Miss Riddle soon. He be in the drawing room with Master Malfoy. And Kreacher is supposed to be givings Miss Riddle this paper, from Master and Mistress.” He handed me a pristine parchment pamphlet. The cover read: Formal Dining Etiquette. A flush of heat crept slowly across my face. Had I been _that_ obvious?

 

Still trying to gather my scattered wits, I accepted the pamphlet from the elf. What was it you were supposed to say to get rid of them? “You are dismissed,” I said, trying to sound as cold and disdainful as possible. “And next time, wake me by calling my name. Do not poke me again or there will be consequences.” The creature nodded, bowing and scraping. “Yes, Miss. Kreacher understands, Miss. It won’t happen again Miss. Kreacher be leaving now.” There was a loud crack and the elf vanished.

 

Half an hour later, I emerged into the elaborately decorated drawing room. Once inside, I breathed a small sigh of relief and the oppressive feeling that had been weighing me down since my arrival lifted. Father was sitting in the finest seat in the room, a large, comfortable armchair with thick rugs under his feet while Malfoy was perched on a velvet footstool with his head inclined ever so slightly, listening intently to what Father had to say. Narcissa Malfoy and her son were nowhere in sight. This suited me—Narcissa’s sharp, piercing eyes slid constantly from person to person, seeing straight into their souls, and her effortless grace made me feel like a clumsy oaf. As for Draco, the thought that I was actually his cousin made me shudder. The Malfoys when combined intimidated me, but Lucius alone I could deal with, especially with Father present.

 

As though he could hear my thoughts, Father looked up and said, “Bella. How nice of you to join us. Sit down—”—here he indicated the small chair beside him, “and we shall be ready to proceed with today’s discussion.”

 

Once I was settled, he began to speak. Both Malfoy and I paid him utmost attention, not daring to move a muscle. “As you both know, the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries has been the centre of my attention this year. Based on knowledge gleaned from various sources, I found out that it might hold the key to killing Potter. However, I cannot touch it, and the same goes for the Ministry wizards. These are the floor plans of the Department.” He pulled a thick stack of parchments seemingly out of thin air. They were covered with intricate diagrams, complete with detailed labels written in spidery, elegant handwriting.

 

“I believe,” Father continued, “that Potter is the only one who can touch the prophecy. Therefore, we must find a way to lure him into the Department of Mysteries and use him to take it. That is your task for this week. I shall be leaving now; many things are waiting to be done.”

 

“But…but my Lord,” protested an alarmed Lucius, “how on earth shall we do that? Potter is protected by Dumbledore! How will we get past him?”

 

Father’s eyes flashed dangerously, the first sign of danger for him. “That, Lucius, is up to you to find out. Do not disappoint me, for I am entrusting you with the most important task any Death Eater has had so far.” He Disapparated in a swirl of midnight-black robes.

 

Malfoy turned to me. I saw on his face the despairing look of a man who had been cornered and had no way of getting out of the sticky situation he was in. In spite of myself, I felt sorry for him. Dumbledore acted like a barmy old codger most of the time, but stealing his golden boy from right under his nose was going to be a Herculean task. And if Lucius failed to deliver, he would be punished most severely.

 

“Well, well, Princess,” he said with a resigned sigh, “I suppose we will have to find a way to work this out.” I frowned a little at the use of the name. I _hated_ it. Princess sounded so insubstantial, as though I would float away at any moment. Besides, I knew I was no princess, but I also knew that if I let the Death Eaters call me Belladonna, they would have even less respect for me than they currently did. Weakness, they would call it. Unable to command respect. Not like Mother at all, who demanded to be called “my lady” and Cruciated anyone who refused to do so.

 

“So…” he continued, “the Dark Lord said you had some interesting news about Potter. Pray tell.”

*********************************************************************  


Five days and eleven plans later, we still were not getting anywhere. We had thought up various schemes to snatch Potter from Hogwarts, but all had to be axed because they were completely unfeasible. Flying a Thestral to the school and yanking Potter out of the window (my first plan) was quickly thrown out of the window, because the teachers and Potter’s cronies would somehow manage to stop us before we had even left school grounds. Imperiusing Potter and dragging him out of the school (Malfoy’s first plan) would not work either, since a) someone would certainly notice and b) Potter was particularly gifted at resisting the Imperius Curse.

 

Malfoy let out a frustrated groan and ran his fingers through his silky blond hair. “This is _not working_ ,” he growled under his breath. I sighed to myself. He was completely right. We had only two days left, and we were nowhere near coming up with a good plan. The thought of Father’s return to the Manor on Sunday made my blood run cold. Sure, Malfoy would bear the brunt of the punishment, but I was sure to be in hot soup too. This was partially my responsibility after all.

 

The door swung open soundlessly and Narcissa Malfoy came sweeping in, today clad in robes of royal purple. She wrinkled her brow slightly at her husband, who was currently sitting with his head in his hands. “What’s the matter, Lucius?” she inquired.

 

“What do you think?! I only have two days left, and I still can’t think of a way to get Potter out of school without Dumbledore noticing! And even if I do, there’s still that sodding Order of the Phoenix to worry about!” At the mention of the Order, Narcissa’s eyes suddenly went as wide as saucers.

 

“Wait here,” she announced breathlessly. “I think I may have just the thing you need.” She then dashed out of the room, leaving us bemused. Several minutes later, she returned with that house-elf who woke me on my first morning here in tow.

 

“This is Kreacher,” she declared. “He lived in the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters for a while, but after Sirius yelled at him to get out, he came here.” At this, Malfoy perked up considerably. “Tell us all you know about the Order,” he commanded. Kreacher gazed up at him balefully. “Kreacher cannot say,” it croaked. “Master Black commanded Kreacher not to speak the Order’s secrets. Kreacher loathes Master Black, oh yes, the scum, but Kreacher must not disobey.”

 

Malfoy let out a piteous groan, slumping forward onto the table. “Oh for Merlin’s sake,” snapped Narcissa. “Do comport yourself with more decorum.”

 

“I’d like to see you do better,” he retorted. I eyed the bickering Malfoys with mild distaste and amusement. I’d always thought them to be poised and elegant, never flustered even in the most trying of circumstances. They were, however, only human.

 

“Fine!” Narcissa shot back, stung by her husband’s scathing tone. “Kreacher, dear,” he said in a saccharine-sweet tone, “I was a Black before I married. I command you to ignore Sirius Black’s orders and tell me all their secrets. There. Better?”

 

“Kreacher is most sorry,” said the elf, bowing so low that its nose bumped against the marble floor, “but Kreacher belongs to Master Black and Kreacher cannot disobey Master’s direct orders.”

 

While they were talking, I was frantically dissecting Kreacher’s words in my mind, searching for a loophole. There had to be one somewhere. Black was a classic Gryffindor, brash, unlikely to take precautions and have back-up plans.

 

“Kreacher,” I began slowly, taking care not to overwhelm the elf, “You said your Master expressly forbade you from telling the Order’s secrets. But surely there must be something trivial, unimportant, that you can tell us.”

 

The elf shuffled its feet nervously. “Miss Riddle is sly indeed. But will Kreacher give Miss Riddle what she wants? Shall Kreacher betray his Master? Oh, yes, Kreacher would love to see Master get what he deserves, but Master is a Black, and Kreacher serves the Blacks, only the Blacks…”

 

“Listen, Kreacher,” I said hurriedly, “this is very important. With the information you have, we will be able to cleanse the world of those filthy Muggles, Mudbloods and bloodtraitors once and for all. Wouldn’t you like that?”

 

There was a long pause. The air was pregnant with tension. Beside me, Lucius and Narcissa held their breaths. At long last, the elf replied hesitantly. “The Potter brat loves Master very much. It would do anything for Master.”

 

“Love!” squawked Malfoy (who was too far gone to act like his usual pureblood self by now), flapping his hands melodramatically. “How is that going to help us?” I too was incredibly disappointed. There was nothing we could do with our new knowledge.

 

Turning to Narcissa, I was surprised to see a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Oh, no, no, my dear Lucius,” she spoke slowly, a lazy smirk spreading across her face. “Love is the most dangerous weapon of all. Lean in and listen close; I think I’ve got a plan.”

*********************************************************************

 

 

“And _so_ ,” Malfoy concluded, unfolding the last schematic with a flourish, “this is where Black will be in the projection. Potter will likely come in from that entrance over there, and we will be waiting for him amongst the shelves of prophecies.” I stood a little off to the side, scowling. As usual, Malfoy took credit for everything. Narcissa Malfoy was the one who had concocted the plan and I had weaseled the necessary information out of the house-elf, but it sounded like Malfoy had done the whole task all by himself. Typical. To be honest, I had liked him a lot more while he had been down in the dumps.

 

“All right, then. That’s all very well—I’m sure Potter will want to play the little hero as usual. However, what if the Mudblood decides to be rational and tells him to contact Black first? What, then, Lucius? Have you thought of that?” Malfoy looked taken aback. Before he had a chance to say anything, I jumped in, “I can fix that, Father. I’ll tell Kreacher to find a way to head his master off so that when Potter makes a Floo call, Black will be safely out of the way and Kreacher can lie about Black’s whereabouts.”

 

Father looked at me appraisingly, cold snake eyes travelling up and down. My mouth went dry and my breath hitched in my throat. Had I said something wrong? After a few seconds, however, he nodded. Turning to the door, he called, “Kreacher!” The house-elf came hurrying into the room, this time bowing so low that its entire face was squashed against the tiled floor.

 

“I presume you have been made aware of the plan regarding Potter. You are to distract Black at the designated time and date. Make sure he is away from the fireplace. Take the Floo call instead and tell Potter he is in the Department of Mysteries, and that he will not be coming back. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, my Lord. Kreacher shall attack his pet, yes, that will draw him away from the downstairs room,” croaked the elf.  Father nodded in satisfaction and gave a small flick of his hand, dismissing all three of us.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Sitting safe and sound in the Hogwarts Express, I finally let a huge, goofy grin spread all over my face. I had survived a whole week with the Malfoys and made it out with my sanity intact! And, better still, we had actually managed to work together to come up with a plan to steal the prophecy. With it, Father would be able to finish off Potter once and for all. I still had another horribly difficult task waiting for me, but that didn’t matter for now. Instead, I filled my head with thoughts of Seamus—thoughts that I had repressed while around Father and Malfoy for fear of them finding out about my crush. It was such a relief to be back at Hogwarts—no more complicated scheming and plotting, no need to always appear domineering and sharp. It was a reprieve to be able to pretend that I was a normal girl, though I knew it wouldn’t last forever.

 

 


	9. Mistake

A/N: Here's a short little bonus scene for all the lovely people who have reviewed and followed. Thank you so much!

*Start*

"Well, Belladonna?" demanded Father as I stood before him in his study, trembling like an aspen leaf in the wind. "I have sensed that you have been hiding something from me these few days. I will give you one last chance. What is it?"

I swallowed hard. Uh-oh. He knew. But how in the name of Merlin did he know? I had kept my Occlumency barriers up as usual during our communication sessions. Despite my hectic homework schedule, I still made it a point to practice mind blocking before bed.

Sardonic, cruel laughter rang out, reverberating around the room. "Do not lie to me, daughter. I know. I always know." Then, without warning, he reached out and seized a clump of my hair, jerking my head upwards and locking his scarlet eyes on mine. I let out a cry of mingled pain and shock as he hissed, "Legilimens!" Instantly, I felt my Occlumency barriers shatter into smithereens. Against my will, images began to swim to the forefront of my mind. Granger, whispering to me in our dormitory. Asking me to join their secret defense organisation. Me, replying that it was too risky. Abruptly, the flashbacks ceased and I found myself staring into Father's eyes, which were narrowed in fury.

"Why did you choose not to join? Why let go of such a spectacular opportunity to acquire more information about Potter, to learn more about his dueling techniques? Unless… maybe you are not true to our cause, my darling. I have sensed a reluctance to be a true Death Eater like Bellatrix was. You are lacking in zeal and passion, and I find that most disappointing. You, of course, know better than anyone else what happens to those who displease Lord Voldemort." He rose around and paced around me in circles, thinking. At last, the silence and the tension became too much for me. I foolishly blurted out, "It was only because I didn't want to associate with Mudbloods like Granger! I would never be disloyal to you, Father!"

"Lies!" he snarled, pasty face alight with anger. "Your real reason was that you were terrified of Dolores Umbridge! Admit it, you were! My only child, a girl with blood from the Gaunts and the Blacks, a coward!"

Despite the severity of the situation, I could not help but notice the irony of his last statement. The most paranoid wizard to ever have lived, accusing his child of being cowardly. He must have seen the flash of defiance in my eyes, though, for in the blink of an eye, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at me. All of a sudden, I felt as though my blood had been turned to lava. The boiling tide surged through my veins, engulfing my body and blinding me. Somewhere far away, there was a girl shrieking in agony, a sound that seemed to go on forever. It took a long time to realise that I was the one screaming.

At long last the torture ended. I lay on the icy floor, trembling from after shocks. My robes were drenched with sweat and badly torn from thrashing around. "Leave now," Father ordered, not even bothering to look at me. "Should you ever disappoint me again, I will not hesitate to give you to the werewolves. Maybe you will finally be useful—a pretty little girl like you may sway Fenrir Greyback to our side." I didn't need to be told twice. I quickly scrambled to my feet, but I was shaking so badly that I promptly collapsed again. Father's eyes flashed dangerously and terror coursed through me once again. Abandoning my pride for survival's sake, I crawled out of the room on all fours, tears stinging my eyes. Only when I was safely outside did I let them fall. Pain or humiliation? Probably both. One thing was certain, though—displeasing Father was not an option anymore.

*Finish*


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9—Reunion

“And so, you have to pick up the Chinese Chomping Cabbage like this, or it’ll take your arm off,” Neville Longbottom explained, gesturing animatedly at the diagrams laid out in front of us. I had sought help from him in the hopes of improving my Herbology grades. It was not working. Not that Longbottom was a bad teacher—in fact, he was wonderful, completely transformed by his love for the subject. His enthusiasm and patience were extremely heartening. But I still didn’t get it.

“Mmm, thanks, that was really helpful, I’ll bear it in mind. I just wanted to know why mine keep dying.”

“Dying?” Neville looked extremely saddened by the fact that so many plants were dying in my incompetent hands. “Well, I honestly don’t know, Gemma. Maybe you’re using too much water, or too little. These plants are pretty finicky about their water intake. Also, it’s a shade-loving plant, so keep it out of the sun. And try to devise a regular fertilising schedule—three handfuls of dragon dung per week. It’d probably be helpful to keep a logbook documenting their growth. Be sure to measure their height, width at the widest point, number and size of leaves, you know, all that stuff. ”

My jaw dropped. How on earth was I supposed to remember and apply all that? I was a gone case. Father was going to skewer me. As though in response to that thought, his voice rang out in my head. “Belladonna. Get to a secluded place, now. I have important news.” I jumped, alarmed.

“Um, I’ve kind of got to go to the loo…I’ll be back in five minutes. Thanks for all your help!” Leaping up, I shot out of the common room without any further ado and made a beeline for the nearest toilet. Once I was safely ensconced in a cubicle, Father spoke again. “Listen carefully. I have managed to break your mother and nine other Death Eaters out of Azkaban. Tonight, you will come to Malfoy Manor and see your mother. And tomorrow, when the news hits as it surely will, act suitably shocked and horrified.” Silence followed this stunning pronouncement.

My knees went weak. I grabbed at the doorknob wildly, trying to steady myself. Mother. Back after all these years… but how was it possible? How had she gotten out of Azkaban?

*********************************************************************

It was midnight. The stars glittered in the ebony sky as I raced across Lucius Malfoy’s expansive front lawn, ignoring the exotic plants and albino peacocks. Pulling up sharply at the elegant front door, I paused for a second to catch my breath. And then I knocked.

The door flew open and Lucius came scurrying out, head bowed. “Your mother is in the guest room down the hall, but there is a problem with Lady Bellatrix,” he said in a low voice. “She—”

“Oh, be quiet,” I snapped, impatience and anxiety trumping the need to be courteous. “She just came back from Azkaban, of course she’s a little traumatised!” I pushed past him rudely and was off down the corridor in an instant.

Within seconds, the imposing entrance to the room that held my mother loomed large in front of me. I took a deep breath, calming myself as much as possible. Then I reached out, took hold of the door handle, and pushed it open, waiting for the joyful reunion between mother and daughter to happen.

It was pitch dark in the room. Extracting my wand from my pocket, I murmured, “Lumos Maxima.” A brilliant white light burst forth, illuminating the figure sitting in the corner of the room.

No. My wand slipped soundlessly out of my slackened grasp as my stomach churned with shock, horror and despair. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill forth at any moment. This was not my mother. It couldn’t be. Father had always spoken of a dazzlingly beautiful lady of sharp wit and charisma, a witch prodigiously skilled in the Dark Arts. His best lieutenant, the mother of his child. She was the only one whom he had spoken about with the faintest hint of affection. 

But this woman was nothing like that. Her long hair was greasy and hung limply down to her knees. She was covered with smudges of dirt and dry blood and was painfully thin. Her eyes were huge eerie hollows. Worst of all, though, was the way she was acting. She swayed slightly from side to side, muttering to herself. Her overlarge eyes were unfocused. Almost instinctively, I knew that Father had given up on her. He only had time for the strong. She had been his most loyal follower, but he had thrown her aside like a broken toy, leaving her to rot and wallow in her madness. 

My throat was as dry as sandpaper as I watched her play aimlessly with the candles on the table in front of her. Father did not want her anymore, but I still did. I couldn’t just let my mother, my only role model waste away like that.

“Mother,” I began, approaching her cautiously, “it’s your daughter Belladonna. Father calls me Bella, just like what he used to call you.”

Her eyes lit up but quickly went dark again. “Bella…Bella…I don’t know…” My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. This was far worse than I had expected. That was when I remembered the silver dagger that I always carried during meetings with Father and other Death Eaters to make myself feel braver than I really was. Could I use it to jog my mother’s memory?

Kneeling in front of her, I slid the dagger from the pocket of my robes and held it out to Mother. “Look, Mother. Isn’t this beautiful? Father said it was once yours, and he gave it to me so I would have something to remember you by. He always tells me stories about how brave and talented you were in combat.”

To my surprise, recognition flashed across her face for a second. Seizing the moment, I continued, “It says Tojours Pur on here. “Always pure” in French—though I’m sure you know that, of course. You gave so much, sacrificed everything for blood purity in the last war. And now, Father will ensure that your efforts were not in vain. He has risen again, and this time he will kill all the Mudbloods and bloodtraitors. The Muggles will be our slaves. Wouldn’t it be grand, Mother, all those pathetic creatures serving you, cowering at your feet, calling you Queen Bellatrix?” 

To my surprise, she leant forward and delicately plucked the dagger from my hands, running her fingers over the inscription on its handle almost lovingly. “Yess… kill all the Mudbloods, foul creatures, they have no place to live…”

My face lit up in joy! She remembered! If only I could find a way to unlock other parts of her memory…

Then, everything went wrong. Rage suddenly engulfed her features and she lunged forward, brandishing the dagger, screaming hoarsely, “Die, Mudblood, die!” I shrieked in pure terror and made a desperate bolt for the exit, wrenching it open and diving out of the room. Seeing that I had gotten away, she let out a howl of primal fury and hurled the dagger at me. I slammed the door shut at the last moment, and it was left protruding from between the door and the doorframe, quivering ominously. Muffled thumping sounds emanated from near the door. Oh no. She was trying to get out! 

Frozen with fear, I stood rooted to the spot, shaking. Just when I thought I was a goner, a cold voice called, “Collorportus” and the door sealed itself with a squelch. I turned to see Father striding down the hall, clad as usual in black. “Father!” I cried, throwing myself at his feet. “Please, you have to save her, she’s gone mad, she tried to kill me—”

He cut me off with a wave of a papery white hand. “Be quiet, child. Stop making such a scene. You are old enough to understand that she is beyond saving. I have far more important matters to attend to than this.”

“Please, Father,” I begged, close to tears. “She’s my mother, she fought so hard for you, how can you abandon her? Please…”

Entirely impervious to my distress, Father chuckled, a disturbing sound that ricocheted eerily around the spacious hall. “Oh, so you love her, do you? Well, let me tell you, love does not exist for the strong. Love is for weak, sniveling fools.” That was when I realised that I had made a terrible mistake.

“No, Father,” I replied, fighting to get a hold of my emotions. “I just respect her a lot. How could I not? Please, Father, if you restore her to her former glory, she will be such a powerful force for our side. If you don’t have the time, surely Severus Snape would have some potions in his store that could help her…”

“I will consider. Now run along, it’s getting late.” The finality in Father’s voice told me that it would be pointless to disagree. Nodding, I walked out of Malfoy Manor. Once outside, I slid down to the ground, staring blankly up at the sky. Earlier on, the glow of the stars had been so warm, so promising, full of hope. It was almost as though they were telling me that something wonderful was going to happen. How naïve I had been, to believe that Mother was strong enough to come out of Azkaban without a scratch, that I would finally get my mother back. Now, though, I knew better. Now that my rose-tinted glasses were removed, I saw the stars for what they really were: cold, uncaring as they watched the trials and tribulations of humans who were so much unluckier than themselves. And I finally saw my mother for what she really was: not a flawless heroine in a child’s fantasy, but just another human.


	11. Chapter 10--Marietta

Chapter 8—Marietta

“Oh….oh my god,” I moaned, thrashing like an eel on my bed, clutching at my abdomen. “Ow…ahhh…” Fay, Parvati and Lavender were clustered around me, looking alarmed. “D’you need us to call Madam Pomfrey, Gemma?”

“N-no, y-you go ahead, y-you’re all going to be late, ahh, oh Merlin, it’s just you-know-what, don’t get her, she’ll fuss….owww…just leave me alone…ahhh…” All three of them trooped out somewhat reluctantly, Lavender turning to get one last worried look at me before closing the door. Once they were out of earshot, I relaxed, panting slightly from exhaustion. It seemed like Narcissa’s tactics had worked pretty well after all. I sat up and pulled a piece of parchment from under my bed, checking one last time to make sure that my target’s free period would begin in five minutes. 

I then pocketed my wand and tiptoed quietly out of my dormitory, past a group of frantically studying seventh-years and straight out of the portrait hole. As I strode along purposefully, I ran through the plan in my head for the umpteenth time. If I made a mistake, I would be presented with a giant ribbon on my head to Fenrir Greyback, and I was not going to ever let that happen.

Three minutes later, I arrived at the corridor leading to Ravenclaw Tower. There was no one in sight, so I quickly slipped into an alcove, concealed by a large, fancy tapestry. Minutes passed, but the person I was waiting for had yet to arrive. Sweat dripped from my brow and plopped onto the ground. What if she wasn’t going to come? Oh please, Merlin, please let her appear now…

As though in answer to my prayers, Marietta Edgecombe came walking along, talking to an Asian girl whom I recognised as Cho Chang. My heart lurched. I had spent two hours a day practicing duelling over the holidays, but I didn’t fancy my chances taking on two sixth-years at once, especially ones that had been personally trained by Harry Potter. There was no choice, though. Moving to the side of the alcove, I leaned forward, poking my wand out slightly.

“Mari!” Cho gasped. “I think I saw something red! Behind the tapestry!” To my surprise, however, Marietta reacted with disdain. “Oh, please,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re so paranoid nowadays, it’s really annoying.”  
Her friend, however, was not listening. “Yellow wasn’t Cedric’s favourite colour,” she whispered, her eyes huge and slightly unfocused. “Everyone thought so, because he was in Hufflepuff. But no. It was red. Cedric always said he loved it because it was s-so bright and f-full of life, just like him. But now he’s gone a-and I’m not supposed to even be thinking of him because I’m sort of seeing Harry, but oh, I don’t know anymore!” She burst into floods of tears and ran off in the other direction, sobs exploding from her throat. Marietta sighed and just continued towards her common room.

Seeing my chance, I pointed my wand at her, casting a full body-bind, then accio’ed her into the alcove before she could hit the floor. Marietta’s eyes stared up at me, wide and terrified. Leaning down, I carefully pried her wand from her iron grip and kept both wands trained on her face as I released her from the curse. I’d thought that she would squeak and tremble in fear. Contrary to my expectations, she leapt up and lunged straight towards me, raking her fingernails down my face and attempting to wrest her wand from my hands. For a second, it felt as though a white-hot iron had been pressed against my cheek and I nearly blacked out. Fortunately, my training with Father kicked in. Acting purely on instinct, I grabbed a lock of her curly hair and yanked as hard as I could. She yelped, jerking her head back and a few strands ended up in my hands. Taking advantage of her shock, I hissed, “Confundus!”

Instantly, her eyes went blank and she stopped struggling, simply standing limply, gazing at me. I obliviated her, then proceeded to give my instructions. “You will tell Professor Umbridge of the time and location of the next DA Meeting. When asked for you motivation in doing so, you will tell her that your mother works at the Ministry and that you are greatly sorry for your disloyalty. You will avoid being seen on your way to the toad’s office, and you will not tell anyone that I put you up to this. Now go.” I placed one hand on her back and gently pushed her out of the alcove before she could gather her wits.   
***************************************************************************  
The next morning, I was awoken by someone shaking my shoulder violently. Vaguely, I heard shrill voices emphatically discussing something that I could not quite make out. Opening my eyes, I was not particularly surprised to see Lavender and Parvati standing next to my bed, looking disgruntled and perhaps a touch scandalised. I winced a little as I sat up, the movement sending a sharp jolt of pain through my cheek again. I deserved it for letting my guard down, though.

“You two,” I sighed. “How many times have I told you not to wake me up just because of some shocking gossip that you’re dying to tell me?” Instead of giggling vapidly like they usually did, the girls exchanged a significant glance. Uh oh. Had something happened with Seamus? My heart started to do an erratic tattoo as I ran through a list of girls he had been friendly with. Had he finally ceased to find me interesting?  
In an unusually solemn tone, Parvati said quietly, “Gemma….we—the DA, that is, got found out. Marietta told on us. There was a showdown last night….Dumbledore’s gone.” My heart leapt. This was far better than I had hoped for.

Feigning shock and dismay, I exclaimed, “What?! Dumbledore? How in the name of Merlin did they get rid of him? Isn’t he supposed to be the most powerful wizard in all of Wizarding Britain?”

“I don’t know,” Lavender murmured, looking downcast. “They say he knocked out a whole bunch of Ministry wizards and fled the school, but I honestly don’t know how long he’s going to last out there…. all the Aurors are combing the country for him. And Harry says Dumbledore’s allies are decreasing by the day…they all think he’s mad…”

“That’s not the worst of it,” Hermione Granger’s voice rang out sharply from behind me. I jumped a little and turned to see her trembling with rage, holding a hairbrush as though it was a sword she wanted to skewer Marietta with. “We’ve got a new Head. And no, it’s not McGonagall.”

Umbridge. Oh, no.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 11

 

O.W.L.s, Owls and Obssessions

 

Before the entire fifth-year cohort knew what had hit us, the O.W.L.s were looming large like the hippogriffs we had dealt with in third year, but infinitely more terrifying. The atmosphere had reached fever pitch; even the usually unflappable McGonagall was annoyed, harried and (if it was even possible), curter than ever. For the first time in my life, I found myself thanking Merlin that I had been placed in Gryffindor. To be placed in Ravenclaw, where everybody seemed to do well without even _trying_ , or Hufflepuff, where everyone was insufferably hardworking, or, worse still, in Slytherin, where all students were, as though required by some unseen rule, to do well while pretending to put in no effort at all would have been sheer torture at this time of the year. I’d always detested the Gryffindor common room for the boisterousness of its occupants, yet now that exams were around the corner, noise levels had reached tolerable degrees. Best of all, when I wished to take a break every now and then, I’d look around and see at least five other people doing the same, effectively saving me from a good deal of unnecessary guilt.

 

All house-related fortunes aside, I wasn’t having a particularly good time. Practical aspects came easily to me after years of practice. (Especially Defence Against the Dark Arts, thanks to hours spent practicing curses and hexes. Countering spells was always easier when one had experience with how they worked.) Theory, however, was quite a different matter--my retention was getting worse and worse, thanks to the late-night training sessions Father demanded that I attend three or four times a week. More often than not, I found myself sneaking around the castle soundlessly or waiting at the outskirts of the grounds for a Portkey. He’d been in a peculiar mood lately--snappish and impatient, almost as though one of his grand plans was in danger of falling through, yet I had glimpsed him pacing rooms, poring over schematics and diagrams with a wicked glint in his eyes. The one time I had ventured to ask him whether there were any new developments, he gave me such a venomous look that I’d completely lost my nerve and promptly backed out of the room. He had made no mention of Mother at all; however, hiding in the shadows as Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy conversed in hushed voices, I had managed to get updates on the situation.

 

“She’s safe at my home,” Snape murmured. “I’ve been giving her daily doses of three different potions--mood stabilisers and tonics for physical and mental health, but she’s showing no signs of improvement. I’ve taken to locking her in while I leave the house--just three days ago she tried to strangle me with a spare robe. ”

 

“Now, I mean in no way to offend my dear sister-in-law, much less the Dark Lord,” Lucius Malfoy said in an oily voice that quite clearly indicated the contrary, “but do you not find this to be a waste of your time and considerable ability? Fifteen years in Azkaban, the poor, poor thing. I fear she’s much too far gone to be saved--a great pity of course, since she was such a wonder in her prime. But then again, now that we have such an important task to carry out, we really can’t afford to waste manpower on futile efforts... ”

 

Oh, how I longed to fly out of my hiding place and hit him with a variety of choice hexes, watch his revolting face erupt in furious rashes and pus-filled boils. He cared nothing for any of our noble goals; all he wanted was power, to become Father’s most valued assistant. A position that would be hindered if Mother made a spectacular recovery. At that thought, my hand positively crept towards my wand of its own accord as I envisioned him writhing on the ground in the clutches of the Cruciatus. Alas, I could not afford to do so; Father would have my head for such a blatant loss of control. All I could do was clench my teeth and swear to Salazar Slytherin himself that I would one day become Father’s right-hand woman, so that place would never be open to Malfoy. Never.

  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The days flew past at an alarming rate. Most of the exams flew past in a hurry, and soon I found myself with only two left—Astronomy and History of Magic, neither of which I had interest in pursuing at N.E.W.T level. Most of my exams had gone fairly well—of course, with the exception of Herbology. During our practical session, the Fanged Geranium that had sported violently violet flowers at the start of the exam wound up shrivelled and throughly dead in less than an hour. Even Professor Marchbanks had to hide her twitching lips behind her clipboard—which gave me an even clearer view of the enormous T scrawled next to my name. (I still don’t know what I did to the blasted plant.)  Then there was the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, in which I had watched Potter conjure a corporeal Patronus—a majestic glowing stag. His display of power had shaken me so deeply that I could barely focus during the rest of the practical, resulting in awfully lacklustre spellcasting. My marks (or lack thereof), however, were dwarfed by the sticky situation I would soon find myself stuck in.

 

There was something very wrong with my telepathic connection. It hadn’t exactly crashed, but rather faded out slowly. At first, I’d merely assumed it to be a dearth of messages. By the time I realised what was going on, it had degenerated to the point that all I could hear was intermittent buzzing—probably Father trying and failing to get through to me. Whoever had coined the saying _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_ clearly had no idea what Father was like. A much more accurate saying would probably go _Hell hath no fury like the Dark Lord made to wait._

A loud thump made me jolt in the middle of copying out a complicated star chart. Looking up, I saw a Great Grey owl throwing itself against the window, apparently bent on getting through. Everyone else was apparently too caught up in their revision to notice it “Oh, all right,” I sighed. “Alohomora!” It came straight at me, then paused, circling frantically in the air for a few seconds before dropping a fat envelope at my feet with an air of finality.

 

I lifted it up, but promptly dropped it again as searing pain tore through my fingers and up my arm. It burned, but not the way fire did. As I stared at the plain envelope, inky black words started to appear.

 

_I open for the twisty, the frustrating, the battle of wits, mind sharp as a knife though no skin it shall slit. Search for the true form, for it shall bring a mighty storm._

I stared at it. A battle of wits? The true form? Why was the sender playing mind games with his desired recipient? Wait. _Mind games._ Of course. _Riddle!_ Father must have sent the letter. But why wouldn’t it open for me?

 

Without warning, the words started to disappear and were replaced by a single sentence, written in silvery-green cursive. _Time and tide wait for no women._ Women? Didn’t the original phrase use the word “man”? It was then that I noticed the plural. Could it be…? I had to find out, but not in here.

 

Quietly lifting the letter with a Levitation Charm, I slipped it into the outer pocket of my robe. The three layers of cloth acted as a barrier of sorts, but I could still feel the sharp burn against my skin. No one looked up from their books as I climbed out through the portrait hole and hurried to the nearest lavatory.

 

Just as I was about to duck into the girls’ room, I found myself intercepted by Seamus Finnigan, an expression of glee lighting his features. (no, Bella, don’t think about how that afternoon light sets off his cornflower eyes so perfectly, say something and get rid of him NOW)

 

“Hey Gemma,” Seamus beamed. “D’you want to go out this Saturday? I heard Honeydukes is having an exam-period sale!”

 

(Stop. Stop. No. What if Father finds out? Tell him you can’t. You’re going to be a warrior; you’ve got no time for this frivolity!) “Yes, of course!” (Darn!)  My traitorous tongue was always a step ahead of my brain.

 

“Amazing!” His smile became wider than I had imagined to be possible. “Fred Weasley says they’re going to have all sorts of new sweets for the celebrating fifth- and seventh-years. He doesn’t really know what exactly they’re going to have, but he thinks they might have chocolate mice that squeak and run in circles! You love chocolate, don’t you? I remember when we went out to The Three Broomsticks and we ordered that chocolate special…”

 

I couldn’t resist a smile at that particular memory, which prompted a dazzling grin from him that nearly made me melt like the aforementioned chocolate. (No, Bella. The letter. Now.)

 

“Oh, yes, I do. But, ah, I sort of have to use the lavatory now, I’ll talk to you after our Astronomy exam!” Ducking into the faintly moldy toilet, I locked myself in the stall at the end and let the glamour charms melt off me like wax, then carefully drew the envelope out of my pocket and opened it with a fingernail. As I lifted the blank piece of paper out, words started to form on it. Father’s handwriting was nearly as neat as usual. Nearly. The curls of the g and the y were much less flamboyant than usual, curling in annoyance, and the s was sharp and spiky. I shuddered as I envisioned him sitting ramrod straight at his desk, his face a mask of carefully controlled rage as he composed the letter.

 

 _Belladonna,_ (theletterread)

 

 _I do not know why you have been unreceptive these few days, but for your sake I hope that it is not through wilful disobedience. Lord Voldemort does not pardon those who stray from the course, especially his own family members._ There was a small puncture in the paper at the end of the sentence; almost as though Father had imagined stabbing me while he wrote.

 

 _Your inability to receive messages—intentional or otherwise has cost us a great deal of time. You must be on the alert and follow exactly my instructions to ensure the success of our mission. Tomorrow we will strike. You will, of course, be required to participate in combat._ (I sucked in a sharp breath. Tomrrow? That was far sooner than I’d expected. True, I’d dealt with dangerous Death Eaters who didn’t trust me as far as they could throw me, but I knew they wouldn’t harm me as long as I was protected by Father’s authority.)

 

 _Tomorrow, as your cohort takes their final exam, I will project the illusions into Potter’s miserable head as planned. Being the fool that he is, he will no doubt attempt to rescue Black from the Department of Ministries. In the event that the Mudblood Granger tells him to contact Black first before leaving, Kreacher will be stationed at 12 Grimmauld Place to hold his master off. You must follow Granger, Potter and the Weasley. Enclosed is a device you may use to contact Lucius Malfoy._ (Reaching into the depths of the envelope, I drew out a spherical silver device with slim filaments that waved about wildly. It had three buttons on it, red, yellow and green)

 

_Green is the all-clear. Press it if certain that Potter and his friends are headed for the Ministry. In the event that you are unsure, press the yellow button. If something goes wrong, press the red button and speak into the device; Malfoy will receive your message. Once you have completed that, leave the castle with your Invisibility Cloak. Head straight for the Forbidden Forest, a six-o-clock Portkey will be ready for you. It will take you to the Ministry, where you will find Potter and force him to take the weapon I seek. I trust that you should be able to execute these simple tasks._

Shaking, I leaned against the flimsy stall wall. This was all happening far too quickly. I didn’t feel half prepared. And what on earth was I supposed to do if I lost Potter in the huge, rowdy post-exam crowd? Or if I made a wrong assumption about his intentions? My telepathic connection made no signs of recovery; and the owl had left, I couldn’t possibly write back to Father. I supposed I could contact Lucius Malfoy with the device, but…no. Never. I would sooner make a mess of the whole mission than give that slime the satisfaction of giving me any sort of help. I was on my own.

 

 

That night, I trooped up the stairs with the other Gryffindor girls. “What a pity that we have to take a stuffy old exam on a gorgeous night like this, ” Parvati wailed melodramatically. “I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing.” I scoffed inwardly. I’ve got a battle to fight and a mission resting on my shoulders, and you’re fussing about _this_?

 

The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “There are lots of things I’d rather be doing than stand here listening to you whine. ” Parvati stopped like she’d been stabbed, looking like a puppy that had been kicked viciously by its owner.

 

“’I’m sorry, Parvati. Must be the stress. ” (Oh, it was stress all right, just not quite the kind they were imagining.) “You’re right, this really is a waste of a good night.” I said quickly before she could kick up a fuss. She looked slightly mollified, but Lavender didn’t look particularly convinced by my “apology”.

 

Once we’d scaled the tower, I hastily began setting up my telescope next to Potter. His hands moved swiftly over the equipment. Would they move quite as quickly as we fought tomorrow? I felt as though someone had chopped up my brain and strewn the pieces all over the land; that was the extent of my distraction. _Never mind, Bella._ I said to myself. _Astronomy’s useless anyway. Just hang in there, finish the exam and get a good rest for tomorrow._

 

Halfway through the exam, my scattered focus began to wane. I looked up from my star chart just in time to see the front door fly open.  Five or perhaps six elongated shadows spilled onto the sea of grass, moving forward rapidly towards the groundskeeper’s hut. I could have sworn that the squat, toad-like figure was Umbridge. A distant knock echoed through the near-silent grounds, followed by the muffled barking of a dog. Lights flickered on in the windows of the hut. The door swung open, and all six figures entered. Strange, but probably just some trouble Hagrid had gotten into again because of those peculiar creatures he loved to bring in. Despite my dorm-mates’ attempts at persuasion in third year, I adamantly refused to take Care of Magical Creatures. I did fancy graduating with all parts of my anatomy intact, thank you very much.

 

Lowering my head, I stared at the parchment covered with practically illegible handwriting and tried to continue, but only succeeded in adding a few pointless notes before my mind went blank again. Sighing, I rested my forehead against the cool metal of the telescope, pretending to inspect something more closely while I tried to visualise my Astronomy notes. My mind stayed stubbornly blank.

 

A sudden BANG! reverberated around the grounds, making me jump so violently that I poked myself with the eyepiece. Clutching my eye, which was watering in pain, I leaned over the parapet and stared with avid interest down at the grounds below.

 

The door of the hut had burst open. The massive groundskeeper cut a terrifying figure, brandishing sledgehammer fists as his six opponents made futile attempts to Stun him.

 

“No!” cried the Mudblood Granger.

 

“My dear!” said Professor Tofty in a scandalised voice. “This is an examination!”

 

Of course, he was summarily ignored. Everyone’s eyes were fixed upon the fight down below. Hagrid was still standing despite the numerous Stunners he had taken. Just as I was wondering how on earth that could be possible, he gave a howl of fury that shook the very foundations of Hogwarts. Seizing one of the wizards, he flung him ten feet away. The man fell to a floor with a sickening crunch. Would I look like that tomorrow when, no, _if_ I were hit by a curse? The thought made my vision go black for a few seconds, which I suppose was the reason why I barely noticed another figure flying across the lawn.

 

“How dare you!” McGonagall’s Scottish accent had returned full force in the heat of the moment. “How _dare_ you!”

 

“Leave him alone! _Alone,_ I say!” Her voice cut clear and sharp through the darkness. “On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such—”

 

I screamed and stumbled back. At least five Stunners had shot out of the dark and hit the Professor squarely in the chest. For one second, she seemed to levitate in a cocoon of eerie red light, then she crumpled to the ground.

 

“Galloping gargoyles!” shouted Professor Tofty, abandoning all attempts at maintaining order. “Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behaviour!”

 

“COWARDS!” bellowed Hagrid in a voice that made my ears ring. “RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O’ THAT—AN’ THAT—”

 

He swiftly felled two of the men, hoisted his dog onto his enormous back and started off towards the gates in a lumbering run. Umbridge was yelling ineffectually at the last man to do something; she tried to Stun the groundskeeper but missed. Hagrid disappeared into the night within seconds. For the longest time, all of us were frozen in a twisted tableau, hands poised over our telescopes and parchments as we gaped down at the grounds. At last, Professor Tofty feebly broke the silence. “Um…five minutes to go, everybody…”

 

But I had no intention of even trying. Sweat was trickling down my back, and the air that had once seemed so clear was suddenly very thick. It hung around me like syrup, flowing viscously around my head but refusing to enter my nose. Once Professor Tofty gave the word, I leapt up and began to take my telescope back apart, hands shaking so badly that I dropped the eyepiece, nearly smashing it. It took three tries before I managed to shove the thing back into its holder and stumble back to the stairs.

My mind was a blur as I made my way down the narrow, winding staircase. Professor McGonagall, gone just like that…I knew I should be happy that a powerful member of the other side was out of commission, but still…

 

The woman had been my teacher for the last five years. Irascible and inflexible she might be, but it would be nothing short of slander to accuse her of being unfair or neglectful of her students’ welfare. The way she had just crumbled under the sheer power of the Stunners kept flashing in front of my eyes. If a seasoned fighter who had survived two major Wizarding Wars could go down just like that, how was I to face Potter and his sidekicks tomorrow?

 

Caught up in my runaway train of disturbing thoughts, my foot narrowly missed the step in front of me and I toppled forward, nearly twisting my foot. Seemingly out of nowhere, someone grabbed hold of my arm, steadying me. “Blimey, Gemma, you look mighty shaken up,” Seamus remarked next to me in the half-dark. “Maybe you oughta go lie down when we get back to Gryffindor.”

 

“Yes, maybe I should,” I agreed weakly.

 

“Blimey, though, I can’t believe they did that,” he said, shaking his head sagely as he steered me into the corridor leading to our common room. “Stunning her in the dark, without a warning! Bloody cowards, the lot of them. Bet they were all Slytherins. Only that lot would attack someone who’s got their back turned.” I couldn’t help but wince a little at his statement. _Not all of us are like that!_ I wanted to shout…but that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

 

“Me mam’s going to be mighty worried ‘bout me again,” he sighed as we entered the portrait hole. “She almost didn’t let me come back to school this year, been reading _The Daily Prophet_ too much and now she reckons Dumbledore’s gone off his rocker. ‘Course I don’t think so,” he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “but no one in their right mind would wanta argue with me mam when she’s already in a right state.”

 

Stepping into the common room was like being hit by a wave of light and noise. People were chattering frantically in every nook and cranny while the Weasley twins were gesticulating madly in the centre of the room.

 

“Horrible, wasn’t it, the way she just fell?” Seamus continued, apparently forgetting that I was tired. “One second she was still up and runnin’, the next she was down.”

 

A wave of nausea rolled over me and for a few seconds, I could actually feel the bile rising in the back of my throat. “I’ve got to go,” I said, faking a half-smile. “Tired and all, I s’pose, after what just happened.”

 

Disentangling myself, I fled up to my dormitory hoping for a refuge but found none. The night was fraught with dreams of dark corridors and multicoloured beams that shot out of nowhere and surrounded me while a raucous voice screamed in the background, “Bet they were all Slytherins. Only that lot would attack someone who’s got their back turned”

 

 

 

 


End file.
